A Black Tie Affair
by mctwist
Summary: In the summer of Draco Malfoy's fifth year, The Dark Lord gives him life-changing orders. But before Draco can realize his dark destiny, he must prove his loyalty. If he gets things wrong, the Malfoy family will vanish from the wizarding world forever.
1. Fresh Blood

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter One: Fresh Blood

In the slanting sunlight of early afternoon, a blond boy of 16 sat staring out the window of his compartment. There were others there with him, his 'girlfriend' Pansy Parkinson, his two meathead 'friends', Crabbe and Goyle, and various castoffs that he had no time for, like Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. All belonged to his house, Slytherin, and all were as forgettable as the rest to him.

Though they were all talking excitedly, (save for Crabbe and Goyle, who never usually had much to say) Draco Malfoy couldn't hear a thing. He might as well have been alone in the compartment. Lost in thought, he couldn't feel Pansy's hand inching its way over his pants as she sat next to him, while the others pretended not to notice. He was withdrawn entirely, not that the others seemed to mind. Pansy was the only one who found anything he said to be of any worth. He'd long ago stopped caring what any of them thought.

Draco Malfoy had a lot on his mind, and with good reason. His father had been sent to Azkaban. He would be coming home, for the first time in his life, to a Malfoy Manor without its traditional head. He would be the only man in the house now. On the one hand, he was deeply ashamed of his father, and knew that his being away would bring no good, but at the same time, he couldn't help but inwardly grin at the possibilities. Not having his father around would mean he'd have an entire summer where he didn't have to follow him around like a lost dog with its head up its arse.

Yes, Draco was well aware for his reputation of ass-kissing. It was impossible to escape, even among the Slytherins. It never failed to escape the notice of Potter, either. But it was a grim necessity. His father was difficult at the best of times, and the only way to get anything out of him was to go along with him. Sucking up might be degrading, but it had its benefits as well. He would have to get used to not having access to these benefits anymore. He was on his own, for better or for worse. And he intended to make it as better as possible. 

And his first betterment, he thought, as he snapped back to reality, would be to ditch Pansy. Thoroughly ditch her. He needed that bitch out of his life, pronto. He slapped her hand away in disgust when she got too close for his liking. Pansy wasn't the only one, by any means, but she thought she was. And that was the problem. She was dragging him down. And he'd let her.

_Merlin, Draco, quit being such a fucking pansy._

He contemplated the irony of his internal monologue with a smile on his face. After a while, he looked up to notice that the rest of the compartment had fallen silent and was staring at him. He scowled at them all and they looked away. Pansy cooed stupidly and clutched his arm, curling up against his shoulder. He glanced skyward and let out a long breath, praying to the gods that the train ride would be cut mercifully short. Of course it wasn't. He had to sit there, as still as possible, resisting the urge to beat her head against the glass of the window. A few minutes later, Blaise finally got tired of the silence and tried to strike up a conversation.

"Sooo, what are you guys planning for this summer?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally, but Pansy jumped at the opportunity, and launched into a winding expository that everyone else in the compartment quickly lost interest in. After several long minutes, Pansy began to realize that she'd lost her audience, and accordingly spoke louder. Draco sighed and interrupted her.

"Got the place to myself for the next few months. Besides mother, which barely counts. She'd go stay at my aunt's if I told her I wanted some time alone," he rolled his eyes.

Pansy clung tighter. "Well," she said, putting on what she thought was a seductive tone, "We'll be sure to take advantage of that, won't we Draco?"

Again the compartment sighed. Crabbe and Goyle glanced between themselves and then back at Pansy, twin looks of revolt filling their stupid faces. Evidently they'd seen her do this enough times to finally figure out what it implied. Daphne also seemed to darken at the proclamation.

"Yeah, maybe not," Draco spat. Everyone looked up in surprise. This couldn't be going anywhere good.

Pansy shot up in alarm. "Draco, honey, what are you talking about? I'm going to spend all summer with you!"

Draco's voice became acidic. "Oh, I didn't mean anything! Of course I'm going to be busy, maybe I'll travel Europe-"

"Oooh, take me with you-"

"No, you stupid twat! I don't want to see you anymore! Slobber all over someone else with your awful dog face, you numpty fuck."

The compartment was deadly silent while Pansy took all of this in. Draco stormed out of the compartment, to laughter and applause from Blaise and Daphne. He heard Pansy screaming as he walked, but he couldn't hear what she was saying and there were few things he cared less about in that moment.

He strode the length of the train. He felt _free_. Liberated. He had nothing tying him down anymore. His father was gone, he'd split up with Pansy, he was a free man. He could do whatever the hell he wanted this summer, and damn them if they tried to stop him.

But as soon as he had reached this grand conclusion, another thought came unbidden to his mind. And he knew then that his summer was going to be anything but ordinary. The Dark Lord was returned and active again. And then there was his mother. He could deny it in front of the others, but she would be a mess.

As the train slowed to a halt in front of the platform, Draco decided that he would genuinely miss Hogwarts. But he would make the best of this summer. A fresh start was exactly what he needed. Exactly what he had in mind. It was coming for him, slow and inevitable. Like dusk, he could see it coming, but didn't know exactly what shape it would take.

He strode back to the compartment against the crowd to grab his trunk, and to his surprise found that Daphne and Blaise were waiting there for him with it. Pansy had long since fled, and Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have left without him, too. He found that odd. Crabbe and Goyle were essentially incapable of free thought. He told them what to do, and if he didn't, they'd stand there waiting for him to. But they weren't around.

He glanced again at his present company. Blaise, tall and gangly, overdressed even in the June heat. Daphne, though, was a different story. She had creamy skin with hair the colour of walnut, nothing like Pansy's pasty skin and brutish main. And she wasn't short of assets either. Draco noted all of the details in a once-over. He was surprised that he'd never really noticed her before, but she _was_ standing here with his trunk. She practically demanded his attention, something she'd never done before. Draco didn't have enough to spare.

He stepped forward to collect his trunk and she flashed him a smile. It was tight, he noticed. Like she didn't want to come off as too interested. Curious. Draco decided to mess with her a bit and winked before grabbing his trunk. "See you," he drawled over his shoulder. Blaise nodded while Daphne just stood there, smiling. Draco shook his head and strode off the train, into the glare of the sunlight.

He got lost in the crowd easily. He saw a few people he knew along the way, and nodded accordingly. Appearances were so important as a Slytherin. At last he spotted Narcissa, standing on her own, dressed from head to toe in black, complete with a veil that partially obscured her face. Draco scowled and quickened his pace.

_What the hell was she doing?_ He thought. People were staring. And that _veil_. She looked she'd just apparated out of a funeral. She was going to be more difficult than he had first thought, that much was clear.

He walked up to her and then threw his arms around her, pretending to embrace her as though they were a tight-knit family going through a tough time together. _That should stop them staring_.

"What the bloody hell are you dressed up as?" he hissed in her ear.

"Attire for a funeral," she murmured, not letting her grip slacken around him.

"No one's died," he shot back.

"Not yet. It's a matter of time, Draco. One must prepare."

Draco's mind reeled. His arms fell to his sides. "If that was _His_ wish, he'd already be dead."

"No, Draco. He wants to watch us suffer. No more."

Draco shook his head. She was being paranoid. The Dark Lord wouldn't kill one of his most useful and faithful servants… Would he? How much longer would Lucius be relevant? The Dark Lord was bound to seize the Ministry, at which point Lucius' role as a double agent would be worthless.

He tried to assure himself that his father would at least be safe in Azkaban. If one could consider the wizarding prison to be "safe". But comparatively, yes, it was a safe place to be. And that was assuming that he wouldn't come for his family… Which he would. No one was safe from the wrath of Lord Voldemort. Draco shuddered and pushed the thoughts from his mind. He'd worry about it later. When the time came.

He hooked his arm under his mothers and they prepared to disapparate. Apparition had always been a sore spot for Draco. He hated having to rely on someone else, especially an _adult_, just to get around. He was 16 years old, for Merlin's sake. He didn't need his mother escorting him around. It was frankly degrading. Accordingly, Draco tended to stick to Floo powder as much as possible. But that would be much more difficult now. The Ministry controlled the Floo Network, and with his father in Azkaban, it would be much more difficult to use it as he had.

Before he could contemplate the problem any further, he felt the nauseating pulling sensation that came with Apparition. And then, the compression that came next. It was like being squeezed into a tube that was much too small and forcing through anyway. He straightened. _Not the most pleasant experience_, he thought, _but it gets the job done._

He was standing in the main foyer at Malfoy Manor. He glanced around. Afternoon sunlight filtered through large windows, and rippled on the floor, like golden waves on an ocean below him. The whole house felt warm. Pleasant. But also empty.

That was the most striking thing about it, he thought. The cold silence seemed to nullify the warmth of the sun. Ironically, the place seemed oddly lifeless before him now. Draco shrugged off his mental wanderings. This was how things were going to be now, and he'd have to make it work.

But there was one thing he had to know. Turning back to his mother, he said softly, "When's he coming home?"

Narcissa melted before her son. "Draco, he's not."

"Rubbish he's not. Doesn't he even get a fair trial in this country?"

"Yes, it's coming up in a few weeks, but we have no-"

"Find a fucking lawyer," he growled. His mother looked up, startled. Her son had never been this direct with her before. He carried on grimly, "Find the best fucking lawyer money can buy and we'll make this an unfair trial. Laws have never stopped us before, mother, we're Malfoys."

He strode out of the foyer and up the stairs. Narcissa could only watch. Her son had disappeared, had been replaced with a ruthless man, right before her eyes. And there was nothing she could do. She stood in the hall, veil still partially draped over her face. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

This was the beginning of the end.

A/N: So THAT is Chapter 1. What do you think? Please leave me a review and let me know! I'm aware that I just retconned the end of Order of the Phoenix, by the way. I know. It was necessary. Look for Chapter 2 soonish!


	2. Unexpectedly Acquainted

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter Two: Unexpectedly Acquainted

A/N: No, I haven't forgotten about this story. I've had exams to deal with! Expect fairly regular updates from me now, as I'm done school until September. Now would be a great time to put this on your alerts list.

Draco flopped onto his bed. It was a purposeful lunge, forceful. He had thrown his weight into it. He didn't ricochet from the bed to the floor. He didn't even bounce. He just sank into the down and goose feather. He sighed, lifting his head from the pillows. He briefly contemplated whether he was going crazy, but quickly banished the thought from his mind- his father had taught him that one. The first step in the descent into madness was admitting that one was insane.

He had been home a whole of three days, and already the house was driving him up the wall. He had hardly left his room, having the house elf bring him meals. He hadn't spoken to his mother since getting home. What he needed was to get out, but he had nowhere to go. He could go to Diagon Alley or somewhere and spend money, but he knew it wouldn't make him feel better. Not for the first time, Draco Malfoy found himself completely at a loss. Usually his summers were spent with his father. Every day, almost every hour. He went everywhere with him, and learned all sorts of things along the way. He used to resent having to follow Lucius around everywhere, but now he saw how valuable it had been.

Draco groaned and got out of bed. It took more effort than it should have. "Bloody hell..." he muttered to himself, and tried to clear his head by shaking it. He decided that what he needed was a shower. A blindingly hot shower, one that would wake him up so he could think properly.

He exited his room silently and padded down the hall, the polished wood flooring cold and uncomfortable against his bare feet. He strode into the bathroom, turning on the taps as he began to undress. By the time all of his clothes had made it to a nice heap on the floor, the water was suitably hot, and so he stepped in and let it pour down his back.

It was painful at first, but as always, his body adjusted to it, and soon it was like the most relaxing massage he had ever gotten. And suddenly all of his lethargy dropped away, like a veil being torn off. He knew exactly what he would do next.

Draco finished his shower and stepped out, towelling himself off. He managed to quite literally run into the house self, Kaisa, on his way back to his room, and had to be careful not to drop any of the clothes he held on top of her. He strode into his room and changed into fresh clothing, all black, naturally, before heading down the stairs to find his mother.

Draco found her in the library. She was sitting at a large oak table, holding a mostly-empty glass of red wine. The curtains were all pulled shut, and even though the morning sun was shining brightly outside, it was only visible through the gaps. Narcissa looked a mess. Draco couldn't tell whether she had slept at all since returning home. It didn't seem as though she had. She hadn't even registered his presence. He didn't like the way she was just staring off into the wall, the wineglass perfectly still in her hand.

"Mother, we're going to see a lawyer today," Draco said slowly, but not with a trace of warmth in his voice. It was an ultimatum, not a request.

He glared at her until she looked his way. She opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something, and then she slumped against the table. Draco snorted in disgust, and summoned the house elf.

"What is Master's bidding?" Kaisa asked, and then her little eyes went wide as she saw past Draco to his mother, passed out with her face in the table.

"Oh!" squeaked the elf. She wasn't sure how to react. Draco sighed, "Kaisa, find some way to sober her up. I want her presentable to the public, and we're leaving in an hour."

"Yes, Master Malfoy! Right away!"

Draco nodded his assent and then left the room. He felt slightly strange being called Master Malfoy now, but the elf had adopted the title as soon as he'd returned three days ago. He supposed that as far as Kaisa was concerned, he was the master of the house now._ I guess that tends to happen when the actual Master is locked away in the most fearsome prison on the planet_, Draco thought.

Draco reconsidered as he walked. Perhaps Azkaban wasn't the worst place to be. He had heard stories of Russia... terrible things. And besides, now that _He_ was back, Azkaban wouldn't remain a prison much longer.

The thought of some of Azkaban's more notorious inmates walking the free Earth once more sent shivers up Draco's spine. There were people in there who had committed unfathomable crimes. Things he had nightmares about. The only thing he could count on was his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the protection afforded by his Father.

Very slim protection, indeed. But there were more pressing things to worry about. For one thing, he needed to get his mother back in shape, at least for now. No lawyer would be foolish enough to see the 16-year-old Malfoy alone, even if he _was_ throwing money at them. For another, he needed to _find_ a lawyer. Wizarding law wasn't exactly one of his chief interests (since he tended to be on the wrong side of it more often than not), and so he wasn't sure who they would go to. He was confident that his mother would know, though.

And so he waited for her, reading the latest issue of Quidditch Quarterly. He was just skimming through an unfavourable review of the Nimbus 2004's (apparently the Nimbus series had gone downhill), when Narcissa came in. She was dressed lightly in black and white, fitting for the July heat.

"Do you know anyone who would be... _suitable_ for our needs?" Draco asked. She didn't object to his bluntness or even seem to notice it.

"Yes, I have a contact that might be of use to us."

"Good." Draco stepped up to the fireplace and stood to the side, waiting. Narcissa came forward and grabbed some floo powder from a small pot on the marble hearth. She strode into the fireplace and, in a clear voice called out "Diagon Alley!" before throwing the handful of powder into the fire and disappearing.

This surprised Draco. He didn't know of any law offices in Diagon Alley, but then he supposed he'd never looked before. He grabbed some of the powder himself and repeated the location. Draco found the sensation of travel by floo powder disorienting, but he couldn't apparate, so it was the only option he had for travel, at the moment.

Draco stumbled out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, catching his balance and correcting his stride as gracefully as possible. He scowled at the patrons of the bar, who were looking curiously over their glasses at the new entrants.

"Come along, Draco," Narcissa said, not looking at him. Her eyes darted across the patrons of the bar. One could never be too careful. Especially not now.

Draco's scowl deepened, but he followed his mother out of the back of the tavern, to the brick wall that separated Diagon Alley from the pathetic Muggles. Narcissa tapped the bricks in the proper order, and Draco looked on, bored, as the wall peeled back before them, revealing the magical haven beyond.

Really, the novelty wore off after the first three or four times.

His mother stepped through, her heels clicking against the cobblestone street they had just entered. Draco didn't turn around when the wall rematerialized behind him. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and reluctantly followed his mother, seeing as he didn't even know the name of the place, let alone where they were going.

He looked on with a smirk at the various criminal merchants attempting to hawk their wares on the people walking by. Charms, amulets, potions; as long as it had a name like 'Stringio's Defensive Elixir,' people would buy it up. It was sad how easily people could be fooled.

He trailed behind a ways, though his mother didn't seem to notice. He glanced in to the shop windows, failing to find anything to interest him as he walked. It was far too early for school shopping, and beyond Knockturn Alley, there were few places of interest to him.

Curiously, it seemed as though they were headed toward that very place. Draco didn't know Knockturn Alley as well as he should, mostly because of his father's watchful eye, but he didn't recall seeing any sort of law firm there. Perhaps this place was new. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd been able to wander around Knockturn Alley.

His entire train of thought was derailed, however, when his mother turned right, taking a side street off of the Alley, rather than proceeding straight down the stairs. This threw him off, and he sped up until he was walking alongside his mother.

"Where are we going?" he demanded.

"Whimsic Alley," she said, without looking at him.

Draco had never been here before, and he scoped the place out. There was nothing terribly interesting here; it was more like an extension of Diagon Alley than anything else. He saw exotic food markets, a few of the choicer clothing stores in Britain, and a never-ending chain of the carts full of merchandise clogging the streets.

They were a nuisance at first; Draco had to step around them, as his shoes were likely worth more than the merchant's entire wardrobes. Combined. But then they started to approach him. He waved the first one away, but they started getting more insistent.

"'Ello, young master! Fancy yourself protected from You-Know-'Ou? Well, a lad like you may one day be the target of dark fowces! An' it so happens that right here before me is the famed Amulet of Samarkand! Nothing wards off dark magic quite like this beauty, and its fetching price is only 15 galleons!"

Draco waited until the man had finished, and then reluctantly slammed him into the cart he was standing in front of. The man let out a cry of terror, and all of the eyes in the street turned to them. Really, touching him was not something Draco wanted to do again, so he pulled out his wand and pointed it beneath the man's chin.

"You're lucky there are people watching. If the circumstances were different, and I had met you alone, perhaps your tongue would be missing now. Get out of here. Run. Go. Run like you're training for Quidditch season," Draco barked, and pushed the wand into the man's neck so hard he yelped and began to choke. The man ran off, coughing and cursing.

"Reducto!" Draco shouted, pointing his wand at the cart. It was reduced to splinters. Draco noted with satisfaction that none of the other merchants would even make eye contact with him. Good, he thought. _Being a thief is respectable. Being this desperate is not_. He stepped carefully over the debris and strode on, to find his mother waiting for him.

"Really, Draco?" she said, at last turning her hard gaze to him.

"What?" he snapped.

"Have you satisfied your ego yet?" she said coolly.

Draco scowled at her. "He was in the way."

She just glared at him. He glared back. They carried on their way.

At the end of the street was a pale sand bricked building with a green sign hanging in front of it, reading "Greengrass & Greengrass." Draco read the sign and then did a double take. _Greengrass_. He gave his clothing a once-over, and then smoothed his hair down. _Never hurts to be careful_, he thought.

They stepped through the green door into a spacious waiting room with a desk at the end. Sitting behind that desk was none other than Daphne Greengrass. Draco's heart skipped a beat internally, but he was perfectly still on the exterior. Too still. He remembered that breathing was sort of important, and resumed doing that.

Daphne looked up, and he couldn't help but notice the way her hair caught the sunlight, twisted it. It was a golden brown in the light, almost like a halo around her pale face. She smiled at him, and he returned it with another careful smirk.

He stepped up to the desk. Ignoring Narcissa, she said "Hello, Draco. What brings you here?"

Narcissa made to speak, but Draco cut her short. "I could ask you the same thing. I'm looking for legal counsel for my father before his trial."

She nodded. "I'm doing secretary work for my parents this summer. Mr. Greengrass is currently in Belgium on business, but I'm sure my mum would be happy to see you," she said, smiling at Narcissa. The twitch at Narcissa's lips caused the smile to drop from her face.

"I'll... just go see what she's doing," Daphne turned from her paperwork and walked down a hall into the back, presumably where her mother's office was.

Draco and Narcissa waited in front of the desk in silence. He ignored his mother to have a look around the office. It seemed fairly nice; he assumed that Daphne's parents must be rich, especially if _both_ of her parents worked as lawyers, as the sign indicated. He found himself wondering why he had never known this about her before. He sighed internally. He didn't know _anything_ about her, and that was the way it should be.

Several minutes later, Daphne came back, followed by her mother. It was amazing how Daphne barely resembled her. Everything about her mother was... darker. Her hair was coloured ambiguously between black and brown, her skin a more olive shade than Daphne's. She also wore her hair up in a tight bun. _All business_, thought Draco. _Good. We're not fucking around, here._

"Narcissa," said Mrs. Greengrass, clasping her hand by way of greeting. "So nice to see you again."

"Esme," Narcissa smiled coldly, and released her hand.

Draco looked curiously between the two. Daphne had never told him that their mothers knew each other, but then, by the look on her face, she hadn't had any idea, either.

Esme turned her gaze to Draco and smiled, genuine warmth showing this time. "And you must be Draco. I'm Esmeralda Greengrass, Esme for short. Long ago I was at school with your mother here. I do believe she was a year above me. Anyway, it's so nice to meet you," she said, shaking his hand. Draco noticed that her grip was rather firm. Still, she seemed sincere enough.

"Nice to meet you, too," Draco said with a nod.

Esme clapped her hands together. "Well, what can I do for you two distinguished Malfoys today?"

Draco smirked. _All Malfoys are distinguished_. "We're looking for..." he cleared his throat, "a special sort of legal counsel for my father."

"I suppose you've heard all about our situation?" Narcissa said.

"Yes, yes, in all of the papers. A dreadful business, no doubt. I suppose he gets a trial? I don't imagine you'd be here if he didn't."

"It's set for the 15th," Narcissa said shortly.

Esme looked thoughtful. Draco could almost see the glint of galleons in her eyes. Of course she'd be imagining all of the money she could make out of this. Draco would do the same in her place.

While she stood there, Narcissa pulled a slip of parchment from her pocket and spread it smooth on the counter. "This," she said, pausing for emphasis," is a receipt of the advance transferred to your account. Esme's eyes went wide at the figure. Narcissa smiled. "I trust it will tide you over for the time being."

"Perhaps we should return to my office to discuss this further," Esme suggested. Narcissa nodded her agreement, and her heels clacked on the hardwood floor as they retreated down the hall, leaving Draco alone with Daphne.

"Hey," she said, waving at him. Draco smirked. "What?" she asked.

"I hope they pay you well to sit behind a desk all summer," he snorted.

"Pays a lot better than following your father around every second, I imagine." It was her turn to smirk.

"Not really. Sometimes it pays to be around. You ever been given the employees-only tour of Borgin and Burkes?"

"Gross! I think I can live without it," she laughed. "But I guess you've got a bit more freedom this time around. No daddy to tail, and no Pansy to shake off, either." She wriggled her eyebrows and grinned.

"Yeah, thank Merlin for that. Still, she had her advantages. Like anyone." He looked pointedly at her.

"That's the Slytherin way," she said, rolling her eyes. "See the good in everyone. Way to go, Malfoy."

Draco leaned in. "Regardless," he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness, "It must get pretty boring working here all summer long."

"There must be some way for you to make my summer better, then, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco leaned further. He was only murmuring now, he was so close; "And how do you propose I do that?" He heard the clack of his mother's heels on the hall floor. _Already_?

Daphne jumped about a foot in the air and turned sharply to look at the hall behind her. Narcissa and Esme came up to the desk. "Come Draco, we're leaving." She turned on her heel and strode out of the office, holding up her hand in a parting wave as she strode out.

Draco noticed Esme rolling her eyes. He felt his own smile returning. "I'll see you later, then," he said to Daphne, and then nodded goodbye to Esme.

"Bye, Draco," Daphne said, smiling sweetly.

He turned and walked out of the office, quickening his pace to catch up with his mother, who had already set off back toward The Leaky Cauldron.

"What was that about?" he hissed.

"Oh, Esme and I have decided it would be best if we handled this business... outside of her usual office hours. I'll be having a meeting with her at the Greengrass Estate on Saturday. I suppose you want to come along?" she shook her head.

"I'll be there," Draco muttered.

A/N: And that's it! Things are sort of starting to heat up, yes? Well, we haven't even gotten started yet, so just wait! Expect another update soon! Reviews would be lovely. "Unexpectedly Acquainted" is actually a wonderful Dracofic by my girlfriend Mandamedieval. I highly recommend it if you like Draco. Whimsic Alley is a beautiful store that sells HP-Style merchandise like robes and scarves and such. They're also awesome!

It's also prudent for me to note that the name 'Esme' actually has zero relation to the Twilight character. Just so you know.


	3. A Moment Alone

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 3: A Moment Alone

A/N: Still haven't forgotten about this story. Things have been kind of crazy lately. I think updates will start coming out quicker after this one, so look for that, all five of you that are reading this.

For Draco, the week passed agonizingly slowly. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't looking forward to Saturday, but he knew he was lying, so eventually he stopped trying. It wasn't until half way through the week that he realized that he had completely forgotten about his father and his situation. He felt guilty, but assuaged himself with the fact that there was nothing he could do about his father until Saturday, anyway.

He wondered if Daphne's mother could do anything for his father. He wanted to fight for his father, do anything he could, but deep in his heart Draco knew it was futile. His only solace was that soon, the Dementors would be under the sway of the Dark Lord, and his father would go free once more. His father and every other lunatic in that place. _The Dark Lord's will must be done, no matter the consequences_, he reminded himself.

Draco mostly confined himself to his room over the days leading up to Saturday. He rarely had any reason to leave, and it minimized the amount of interaction his mother forced on him. Only one interesting thing happened, which appeared Thursday afternoon in the form of a letter attached to the leg of a small black bird with brown feathering.

Draco stared at it curiously. He didn't normally receive much mail during the summer, seeing as none of his friends were stupid enough to think he cared about what they were up to, and _he_ wasn't about to owl _them_ about his life. Invitations were the only mail he looked forward to, and conveniently, the only mail he received. So it was with a scowl on his face that he scanned the letter to find that it was not, in fact, an invite to some Slytherin social function, but instead a rather long-winded and melodramatic emotional vomit from Pansy Parkinson.

He sighed. The thought of taking her back had briefly crossed his mind, that is, until he remembered how unbearable she was. Still, the summers were so boring, and _lonely_. Draco valued solitude quite a lot, but definitely not enough to enjoy spending two months with no one but his parents to keep him company each day. If it wasn't for the possibility that _maybe_ Daphne Greengrass was interested in him, he didn't know what he'd do.

Turning his attention back to the letter, he forced himself to read through it. It was painful. He was amazed at the amount of bullshit Pansy could spout about wanting him back without actually being in love with him. He knew she wasn't, and he also knew that he had never loved her. Yet here she was, begging him to return to her "loving embrace," so that "all can be right in my world again." He snorted. _What a bunch of rubbish._

One of the things he hated most about Pansy was how he completely failed to intimidate her. Normally he wouldn't care, but now it meant that he couldn't shake her off. He'd already told her once that he wanted nothing to do with her. Quite rudely. But it seemed she hadn't gotten the picture. Draco smiled to himself. _Perhaps it's time to try harder._

He sat down at his desk and searched about for a piece of parchment. It wasn't terribly untidy, but since he seldom used it, he couldn't remember where he kept any. After a quick raid of the drawers, he found what he was looking for, and grabbed his quill to scribble a response to Pansy's tragic narrative.

_Dearest Pansy,_

_Stay away from me or I'll be forced to take legal action._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

_P.S Have you managed to find a cure for that fungus yet? Oh dear, I hope the Ministry doesn't intercept this letter. How unfortunate that would be. _

Grinning, Draco folded the piece of parchment and affixed the Malfoy seal to it. He knew full-well that because of his father's recent conviction, the Ministry would indeed be intercepting all of his mail. He pitied the poor sod that had to read about _that_. Well, at least he figured it would liven things up. They might as well enjoy their final days in office, after all.

Grabbing the letter from the desk, he departed from his room. Malfoy Manor had its own version of an owlery in miniature, though it was kept in far better condition than the _disgusting_ one at Hogwarts. As soon as he stepped into the room, his eagle came swooping down to land on his shoulder, claws gripping him painfully.

"Knock it off!" he growled to the bird, which took off from his shoulder and circled the room again. It landed on the handle to the door leading out to the balcony.

"Yes, I need you to deliver something. Really, Adonis, you're acting like an oversized pigeon. We Malfoys conduct ourselves with _dignity and poise_. You could do with some of both."

Draco had no idea whether it could actually understand him or not, but he smiled at the way the eagle ruffled its feathers at him and hooted indignantly. Some of it must have gotten through.

The eagle took off again and he opened the door and strode out onto the stone balcony. It was a beautiful day in June. He supposed it would be muggy, but there was a strong breeze, which evened the temperature out nicely.

With a grateful hoot, Adonis darted through the door and disappeared, doing a long circle of Malfoy Manor. Because of the lack of mail during the summer, the bird rarely got out, and it was relishing the chance now. Draco stood waiting for it on the balcony, enjoying the weather.

When at last Adonis returned, doubtless after swallowing several mice from the fields surrounding the Manor, Draco put the parchment in its beak and watched it set off into the sky. He prayed that Pansy would have the good sense not to reply. Upon further consideration, he thought that might be asking a bit much for her.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room flipping through a broom catalogue. He didn't really care if the Dark Lord took over tomorrow- he needed a new broom, and _now_. His Nimbus 2001 was a great broom... 3 years ago. _It was no wonder Slytherin hadn't won the Quidditch Cup last year_, he thought bitterly, _with everyone flying on outdated brooms_.

He would've bought a new one years ago, except that he didn't have any money.

Oh, how his friends and enemies alike would be shocked to find out that, he, Draco Malfoy, had very little gold in his account. Certainly not the fortune associated with his father. And it was his father's fault that his account was so empty in the first place. Lucius liked having his son be dependent on him, and depriving him of money was just another way he made that possible. If Draco wanted anything of worth (and really, what else would he want?), he had to go to his father to get it.

But now... Things were different. He would have to see his mother about getting a new broom later. Perhaps one of the new Firebolt IIIs was in order.

The next two days passed in a haze. With little else to do, Draco threw himself into the quest for the perfect broom. In the end it was a fruitless venture because it so happened that the perfect broom for him was the Firebolt III, which he had initially figured he would get. But it passed the time nicely, and he went to sleep Friday night with a pleasant smile, excited for what the morning would hold.

For the first time since returning home, he slept deeply.

He awoke promptly at nine AM, too excited to be tired, which was good, because they had to be at the Greengrass Estate by eleven thirty. This wasn't really an issue for Draco. He had showered and dressed in half an hour. His mother, on the other hand, was still struggling to get up. He could hear the elf urging her in the distance while he ate breakfast. _Another long night with a bottle of firewhiskey_.

The next few hours passed painfully slow. Draco found himself incredibly restless, waiting to go. He tried to do a number of things to occupy his time, but nothing seemed to satisfy, and he ended up pacing restlessly, watching the clock. He considered going outside for a walk, but the heat had already set in, and the day was promising to be sunny and humid.

Finally Narcissa entered the room, and they both sat there, in silence. Draco noticed that his mother looked quite uncomfortable, and several times she motioned like she was about to say something, but his glare always brought her up short. Fortunately, it was nearly time for them to leave, and Draco only had to endure the painful silence for about five minutes. Still, to him, those five minutes seemed to be twice as long as all of the rest of the morning so far. He sincerely hoped Esme would keep to business to avoid nonsense like this.

At precisely eleven thirty, they stepped into the fireplace and arrived at the Greengrass Estate. Draco surveyed the room they had entered and let out a low whistle. There was only one thing that came into his head as he looked around, and that was _money_. From the ornate pillars to the white marble floors, this room alone must've cost a small fortune.

Perhaps law wasn't as bad as Draco had first thought.

They had only been standing there a moment before Esme appeared. "Good morning Narcissa, Draco," she said cheerfully, giving a slight bow to each of them. "I thought we could sit outside on the back veranda since the weather is so nice."

Draco hoped they wouldn't be outside long, as it was bound to be sweltering. Maybe it would be cooler under the veranda, but he doubted it.

They followed Esme down a series of halls, each as immense and beautiful as the next. Finally they reached what Draco assumed were the doors leading to the veranda, and he stepped outside into the thick air. He found he was right in his earlier prediction- the mugginess made it seem as though he was breathing through a sponge, but the shade did help.

The veranda was as massive as everything else. There was a full table, which Esme led them to, complete with seating for 12. Draco was grateful to find that the chairs were not leather. He would take the stiff wood over third degree burns any day.

"Well, Cissy," (Draco noticed that his mother flinched visibly at this nickname), "you've come to the right place. To bend the law, you have to know it well enough to beat it. Greengrass & Greengrass prides itself on being the most competent wizard-law firm in existence. If anyone can spring Lucius, it's us."

"Thank you, _Esme_, that's exactly what we're looking for," Narcissa said, with false sweetness. "You must exploit every loophole you can find, because it's not looking good otherwise. He was found and apprehended at the scene of the crime, and that's pretty damning if you ask me."

"We might be able to spin it like he was Imperius'd. The Dark Lord needed an inside man to get in, so Lucius was targeted?"

"That'd be fine and great if he wasn't in full Death Eater regalia at the time of his arrest," Draco cut in.

"Ahh..." Esme trailed off.

"Listen," Draco sighed. "I thought you said that you guys were the best? You _must_ do better than that if you want a hope in hell of getting my father free. And that's what _we're paying you to do_, so how about you knock things up a notch, yeah?"

"Yes, of course," Esme said brusquely, looking disgruntled.

Before she could proceed, Daphne stepped out through the door, looking sheepish. "Sorry I'm late," she said quietly, and sat down next to Draco. He looked at her curiously, and she explained that she was supposed to be taking notes as she produced a quill and minute book from her bag.

"Actually," Esme said quickly, "I won't need you here, Daphne. I'd like to keep this one strictly off the books. You can go."

"Oh, alright then," Daphne seemed a touch disappointed.

"You can go too, Draco. Why don't you run along and play," Narcissa suggested, her gaze flicking to Esme for only a moment, a cruel smile playing across her face.

Draco looked to Daphne and noticed that she was trying to suppress a grin. Sending a silent prayer of thanks to his mother, Draco departed behind Daphne, who suggested loudly that she would "give him the tour."

Much to Draco's dismay, it appeared she was _actually_ giving him a tour as she led him toward the greenhouse. She held open the door and gestured for him to enter. He gave her a look, but entered anyway. The entire building was filled from floor to ceiling with plants. He wasn't sure whether it was possible, but it seemed to be even more humid in here than it was outside.

He stood staring for a few moments before Daphne came up behind him and grabbed his arms. He jumped about a foot and rounded on her. "Merlin, Greengrass! Don't do that!" It was only then that he noticed his was wand was drawn and pointed at her. He didn't recall taking out his wand. Shaking his head, he put it away again.

Daphne was still grinning. He scowled at her.

"Jumpy, Malfoy?"

He scowled some more. "You're lucky you didn't get cursed."

"Sure, sure," she grinned. "You're lucky I wasn't planning on cursing you, or it's likely you wouldn't be wearing any pants right now."

He looked at her questioningly.

"It's a favourite of mine. Forcibly removes the target's pants. Great for enemies, but it's great in the bedroom, too."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You'll have to teach me that one," he deadpanned. They both began to laugh, as though it was the funniest thing in the world. And for Draco, it was. There was nothing at all funny about Malfoy Manor, or his life there, and Daphne was like a breath of fresh air. She could make him _laugh_. _That's rare_, he thought.

When he could finally breathe again, he looked back at Daphne. She was wearing a very serious expression.

"_Now_, in THIS Greenhouse, Mr. Malfoy, you'll find that we have over _sixteen varieties of hibernating aquatic fungi_."

"You don't say," Draco said, forcing himself not to smile.

"Ohhhh, I do. You might also be interested to know that I made up that statistic on the spot."

"Truly fascinating. Might this be a prudent time to note that I don't give a damn?"

"Mr. Malfoy!" she shouted in mock outrage. "This is a courtesy tour! As in, show some fucking courtesy before I hex you!"

He was momentarily stymied as he tried to think of a comeback, and Daphne started to laugh.

"I'm only kidding," she said, giggling. "I just led you on a 'tour' so that my mum wouldn't think I was looking for the nearest crop of bushes to drag you behind to shag."

"Nice to see she thinks so highly of you," he said drily.

She shrugged. "Slytherins; you know how it is. Anything's possible."

"Indeed," was all he said.

"So, anyway. How about I give you a tour of the house, instead?"

"That sounds like a much better idea, Greengrass."

"It's Daphne, _Malfoy_."

He rolled his eyes and walked beside her back toward the house.

"So what's your dad doing in Belgium?" Draco asked.

"Couldn't tell you. Some sort of business. All I know is that he promised to bring me back Belgian firecrackers, so I'm happy."

Draco gave her another questioning look. "They're renowned for their fireworks. Dunno why. I'm kind of a... what're they called... a pyro. Like things that explode. Yep."

Draco nodded. "Alright, fair enough. Explosions are a fairly normal thing to enjoy."

She turned to him suddenly. "Are you going to kiss me yet?"

Her bluntness took him completely by surprise. "What the hell? I was going to wait until we got inside first," he joked. She kept looking at him. "Are you serious?"

"Sorry if I'm being blunt," she said, clearly not sorry at all, "but I just figure, why wait? Unless I'm reading all of the signs completely wrong, you're interested in me. I mean," she scoffed," why wouldn't you be? And I think we both know that I'm interested in you," she inched closer, "so what in the name of Merlin is the hold up?"

"Oh, I dunno, just this thing called _class_, you might've heard of it."

"Hmmm... maybe in passing. Sounds overrated," she gave him a crooked half-smile and he knew that now was the time.

They were about five steps from the side entrance. Draco pulled Daphne the entire way until his back was against the stone wall of the house. She was incredibly close to him now. Even in this weather he could swear he felt heat radiating from her. Maybe he was just imagining things. It didn't really matter anymore.

All that mattered was that her lips were pushing against his, locked there by a force of nature far beyond his comprehension. They were cool, and incredibly soft. He wanted to stay like this forever. He felt his arms reaching around to pull her closer to him, but he didn't comprehend that _he_ was doing it. There was no room for that. All of his consciousness was taken up by her lips against his. Tongues began dancing and darting, melding together. He loved the way she felt, more than anything, in that moment.

It was a funny thing, his brain noticed. The kiss seemed to last forever while it was happening, and then seemed to have ended much too soon once it was over.

"Was that what you were looking for?" he said smugly.

"Uhm, something along those lines," she said, smiling.

"Perhaps we should continue the tour... to your room," Draco suggested.

"I _like_ the way you think, Draco Malfoy."

"It's mutual."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him onward. They entered the house through the side door and were briskly making their way toward the stairs when a house elf darted around the corner.

"Mistress!" it squeaked. Daphne groaned. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?" she snapped at it. Draco grinned.

"I's asking your apologies mistress, but mistress Esme is asking for you and Mr. Malfoy."

"Very well," she barked, and the elf scampered away.

Daphne sighed and detached her hand from his. She led the way back out to the veranda. His mother and Esme were both still at the table on the veranda.

"We're finished here," Esme said happily.

"Oh, fantastic... Are we leaving then?" Draco asked. He had completely forgotten that was the reason they were here.

Before Narcissa could answer, Esme interjected. "Actually, I'm going to be having a party here this afternoon. Since you're already here, would you like to just stay?"

"No thank you," Narcissa said. "I have some unfinished business to attend to at Malfoy Manor." _Yeah, a half-empty bottle_.

"I'll stay," Draco ventured. Narcissa gave him a look, but he glared back. He could feel Daphne's hand in his again.

"Excellent!" Esme said. She sounded genuinely pleased. _Huh_, Draco thought.

"Very well. Behave yourself, Draco," she sighed, and disapparated. Draco felt his face going red. "Likewise," he muttered. What was he, seven? It was none of her damn business _how_ he behaved, but of course she couldn't resist having the parting shot.

"We'll be inside," Daphne said, turning to leave. Esme must've said something, but Draco was already lost again as they hurried back to resume their own unfinished business.

A/N: I hope you like this one! Please tell me what you think. Reviews are always lovely. Expect the next one soon!


	4. Hopeful Beginnings

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 4: Hopeful Beginnings

A/N: See, quicker updates! I told you.

Draco was grinning from ear to ear as Daphne led him up the stairs by the arm. She was practically running, and he had to admit that he appreciated her enthusiasm. They went around a corner, down a hall, and around another corner. He made a note of memorizing the route for future reference.

She stopped at last before the third door on the left. "Well," she said, smiling, "this one's mine."

She opened the door, and it was like an explosion of green across his retinas. He quickly began to differentiate: the walls were white, the floors were hardwood, but _everything_ inside the room was green.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes. She stuck her tongue out at him. "It's my favourite colour," she protested.

"Really? I never would've noticed."

"Oh, shut it, Draco," she rolled her eyes and took his hand again, pulling him into the room. Much to her annoyance, Draco pretended to be blind, and used her as a sort of seeing-eye dog.

"If I take my shirt off, it's your loss," Daphne said with a shrug.

Draco opened his eyes immediately. She laughed. "Really, you must be joking," she snorted as she sat down on her bed. Draco sat down next to her. "What's there to joke about?" he asked, grinning.

She ignored him and said, "So what brings you out here?"

He looked at her, suspicious. "I'm trying to get my father out of Azkaban, remember?"

"Yes," she said airily, "but what _really_ brings you here?"

"Oh," he said, and trailed off, thinking. "I suppose it's you. Are you flattered? If the answer to that is 'no', then perhaps you should re-evaluate your life."

"That was precisely the answer I was looking for," she sighed and lay back on her bed. Draco sat down next to her, leaning against one of the posts.

"So what's your story, Draco Malfoy?"

He shrugged. "You already know it. Most people do. I'm rather popular, you see."

"You don't say," she said sardonically. "But are you sure that isn't just the tough-guy fa___ç_ade you wake up and put on every morning?"

He laughed. "I'm positive," he lied.

She snorted. "Sure, sure."

"Hey!" Draco countered," if I was so focused on being tough, why would I be here, sitting on your bed, _talking about myself_?"

"Hmm, good point. But maybe you're just doing it in the hopes of getting some?"

Draco scoffed. "_Me?_" he asked innocently. "Think about who you're talking to, Daphne!"

"You're digging yourself a grave here," she giggled.

"But answer me this," he said seriously. "If all I wanted was to get some, why would I have broken up with Pansy? She's the easiest ticket to sex there is."

"Well," Daphne said slyly, "It's 'cause you want the best."

Draco laughed. "Oh, and that's you, is it?"

"You best believe it is, Malfoy!" Daphne yelled with mock affront.

"There's only one way to find though, innit?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. He let himself fall forward so he was lying next to her on her bed, arm under his head.

She rolled her eyes again. "Really," she snorted. "You _must_ try harder."

"Sorry," he grinned, "Used to Pansy."

She sighed. "I think you'll find the experience of being with someone who _isn't_ an insufferable whore quite rewarding... in due time."

"Gonna make me work for it, then, Greengrass?" he murmured, his face only inches from hers.

"Why give it up all at once?" she smiled.

"I can admire that. Just don't expect your resolve to last very long."

"And why's that?" she breathed.

"Cause I'm a Malfoy," Draco whispered, and he leaned in, closing the tiny gap between them, and kissed her. There was something about lying on her bed that made it so much better. It was like, he didn't have to worry about moving, or standing, or balancing, or anything. He could focus every ounce of his consciousness on how amazing she felt against him. His arms wrapped around her and suddenly she was pressed against him, their limbs entwining just as their tongues, and it was bliss. Draco never wanted to move again.

Movement, however, was inevitable. Daphne broke the kiss just long enough to pull Draco's shirt over his head, and he did the same for her, and her bra quickly followed. The two resumed kissing, even more passionately than before, their hands searching each other's bodies, gliding over skin and running through hair. Daphne gave a low moan when Draco's hand found her most sensitive area, but it was stifled by the kiss.

They continued like this for some time, Draco's fingers plunging inside her while she clawed at his back with her nails, her mouth against his.

_Thunk_. The noise had come from somewhere in the hall.

Draco whipped his head around to look at the door. "The hell was that?" he whispered.

"Dunno," Daphne whispered back. "Someone might've slipped on the stairs." And they both heard someone humming in a high voice, walking past the door.

"Astoria," muttered Daphne. Draco let out a sigh of relief it wasn't one of her parents or one of the party guests or something. The door might have a locking charm on it (or at least he hoped it did), but the room wasn't soundproof. As much as he thought Esme liked him, he didn't want to test that by being caught half-naked with her daughter.

Draco leaned over to grab his shirt, but Daphne slapped his arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Folding my shirt properly," he sniffed, as he reached over for it. "Merlin knows I don't want to leave it in a crumpled heap on the floor. We're attending a _party_ later this evening."

She laughed. His eyes narrowed. "Well, maybe you don't care, but I'd rather everyone didn't think of me as a peasant farmer on first sight."

Daphne snorted. "Peasant farmer. Really. With that hair? Keep dreaming, Draco." Nonetheless, his black shirt was folded immaculately and placed on her bedside table. He got back on the bed once more. "Now, where were we?"

"A good question," she said, before their lips met once more.

. . .

When Daphne and Draco emerged from the room some time later, hair slightly rumpled, they had wide grins on their faces. Holding hands, they stepped downstairs. Astoria stared at them as though they had some kind of horrible disease.

"Seriously? You guys met, like, yesterday," she scoffed.

Daphne scowled at her. "Grown-ups work differently than stupid thirteen year olds, _Tory_."

"My name is _Astoria_, and for your information, I am turning fourteen in 41 days, _thank you very much_."

Daphne snorted. "And? The ickle 14- year- old doesn't know anything more than she did a year ago.

Astoria huffed and stomped off. Draco was certain he heard her mutter, "bunch of tossers," under her breath as she departed.

"Bit fiery, isn't she?" Draco ventured.

"You mean she's a raging bitch? Yeah. The worst part is that she's not going to hit the apex of her obnoxiousness for another year yet, at least. I sincerely can't wait until I'm out of here."

"At least you have someone to taunt during the summer," Draco shrugged.

"Awww, does ickle Draco get wonely in his big, empty house?" Daphne mocked.

"Shut up, Daphne. I don't get lonely, I get _bored_. There's a sizable difference."

"Sure, sure," she grinned.

They proceeded outside through the back door and onto the veranda to find Esme and a whole mob of guests. Sitting and standing, some holding drinks, there was a buzz of pleasant conversation in the air. Esme spotted Draco and Daphne, and came up to them, smiling.

"Draco! I'm so glad you decided to stay."

"The pleasure's mine. I must apologize again for my mother. She's rather distraught about father's imprisonment. She's not taking it nearly as well as I'd hoped."

"Don't worry about it, Draco," Esme said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do if Andrew were in the same position."

Draco nodded, assuming that Andrew must be Mr. Greengrass.

"I'm sorry to say that things aren't going too well in regards to your father's case. The Ministry have been horribly incompetent of late, and it seems that your father and the others arrested will be made into scapegoats. The Ministry wants to set an example. Don't lose hope yet, though. There's still a week before the trial, and I'll be working nonstop between now and then."

Draco nodded grimly. He had always figured there would be nothing they could do.

"Anyway, don't let me get you down. You two enjoy yourselves," she smiled and walked off in the direction of a rather loud group of chatty witches.

"Find us somewhere to sit," Daphne said in his ear. "I'll go get drinks." Draco nodded and scanned the large patio. He found a small table off in the corner that looked nice. It was a ways away from the thronging crowds, so they would be able to speak freely.

He wandered over and sat down, noticing the candle in the middle of the table. He smirked. "Incendio," he muttered. The candlewick burst into a small and unnaturally bright flame, which promptly turned blue, bathing the immediate area in azure. He leaned back in the patio chair and waited for Daphne.

A short time later she came back, carrying to two tumblers have full of what, from the reddish tinge, looked to be firewhiskey. In the blue light, however, it was hard to tell.

She passed him the glass and he took a sip. _Definitely firewhiskey_, he thought, as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He stared at Daphne. She looked dazzling in the flickering blue light, which managed to meld perfectly with her light skin.

They had been sitting there in silence, drinking, for some time, before Daphne finally said, "What'll you do if your dad loses the trial?"

"I dunno," Draco sighed. "There's not much to do. Just keep going, I guess."

She put her hand on top of his. "I'll be here for you, Draco."

"I know," he said, and smiled. "Thanks."

They passed the night together, sitting in their corner, talking and drinking. They were disturbed only once, when a couple of men that Draco vaguely recognized came over.

"Mr. Malfoy," said one, a thuggish looking man with slicked back hair. Draco looked at him through narrowed eyes, the alcohol slightly obscuring his vision.

"Whozzat?" Daphne slurred.

The man smiled tightly at the two. "We work for your father."

Draco nodded. That would be where he recognized them from.

"We were, ah, wondering when you'd be joining the fold," said the other.

Draco looked at them again, confused. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Well, now that your father's gone..." the one said.

Draco's eyes flew open. "Leave now," he hissed, pulling out his wand. They just smiled and walked off. Draco returned his wand to his pocket.

"What was _that_ about?" Daphne managed.

"Nothing," Draco said shortly. "Just some friends of my father's mouthing off 'cause they've had too much to drink. Don't worry about it."

Daphne, contented with his explanation, left it at that and returned to her drink. But Draco found himself in a different boat. His mind was racing, full of questions.

_They couldn't have been serious, could they? They didn't want him. They didn't seriously expect him to replace his Father. There was no way. He was only sixteen after all. He'd be going back to Hogwarts in September! There was no way, no way, no way._

He repeated that to himself, over and over, and after a time began to believe it. He dismissed the two as drunks, mouthing off to try and impress him. They didn't know anything.

At least, that was what he told himself. 


	5. Trials and Tribulations

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 5: Trials and Tribulations

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so overdue! A lot of stuff's been happening. I hope the content makes up for the delay!

It was well into the morning when Draco finally left the Greengrass Estate and returned to Malfoy Manor. He sauntered out of the fireplace with a broad smile on his face, the first time he had smiled in Malfoy Manor since returning there for the summer.

The days before the trial all seemed to melt together. Draco hated the fact that, in the trial itself, he would merely be a spectator, a bench-jockey, depending on The Wizengamot to deliver his father from a fate worse than death.

The problem was, he didn't know if that would be possible. Esme was sticking to the most classic Death Eater defence: The Imperius Curse. It was almost fool proof, and his father's reputation in the Ministry would help, but would it be enough? Draco couldn't help but wonder.

The morning of the trial came, and an immeasurable tension washed over the house. Despite the sunny haze that lingered outside, Malfoy Manor seemed to be plunged into the middle of a thunderstorm, where nature could begin pouring down its wrath at any second.

The house operated in complete silence, and consequentially Draco tried to make as much noise as possible while going about his daily routines. It didn't matter how much he tried, however, because all of the noise in the world couldn't have brought the life back into Malfoy Manor without its true Master there.

He dressed sombrely for the trial, in his usual black suit. His platinum blond hair was perfectly combed through and smoothed down. He made sure that his mother didn't try to wear anything foolish, like her funeral garb, and eventually coerced her into wearing some appropriately stately clothing.

They arrived at the Ministry of Magic via fireplace, stepping out into the entrance hall, which was a hive of activity. The massive room was filled with witches and wizards, bustling about hurriedly. Everyone had somewhere to be and not enough time to get there.

It was clear that the Ministry was on overdrive since the return of Voldemort. Cornelius Fudge had resigned 2 days ago. Draco met this with mixed reactions. Fudge had always been privy to his father, thanks to his generous contributions; but now it was quite probable that Fudge would be overly harsh at the trial, since he had been made to look such a fool- a Death Eater working directly under him, all that time.

But at the same time, he highly doubted that Fudge's successor would be any better. They'd vote in some war hero and he'd give gruff speeches and walk with a limp and promise to stand against the Dark Lord. Briefly, an image of Mad-Eye Moody and his creepy magical eye popped into his head. He shuddered and turned his thoughts back to the present.

He still hadn't forgotten about that.

His mother was already walking toward the nearest lift. He strode off to catch up with her, straightening his tie as he went. This was it.

They stood in front of the lift together. One was on its way up from the lower levels. Just as the doors opened, a man strode up beside them. Draco recognized him- it was Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was a Ministry employee- but his father had his suspicions that he was in with the Order of the Phoenix. "Going down?" he asked in a smooth, deep voice.

Narcissa just nodded curtly and stepped in, Draco on her heels. He suspected that his mother was experiencing the same dilemma as he: It was very hard not to like Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was in his name- he was like a king. He radiated power and calm and authority, and it made you feel safe, and comfortable, and you forgot about your stresses for a while. But if he was an Order member, he was dangerous indeed, so he fought the sensation, focusing all of his energy on the conflicts ahead.

Kingsley's lip twitched, as though he had been able to sense it, and stepped into the elevator with them. Draco scowled as the lift door closed and they began moving down.

The lift was uncomfortably quiet on the ride down. Kingsley was standing there, perfectly still and silent, while Narcissa and Draco did the same. Draco was confident that, had he cared to test it, he could've heard a pin drop.

After what seemed like ages, the lift ground to a halt. Giving them a serene smile that Draco felt was oddly disconcerting, Kingsley exited the lift and strode off into a busy hall. The lift gate closed once more and they descended.

Despite Kingsley's absence, it was still deathly quiet.

The lift jolted open, and they stepped out, into a dim hallway. It was clear from the feel of the place that they were underground, despite the hazy white clouds visible through several "windows." Draco adjusted his tie nervously and followed his mother down the hall. Evidently she knew which room the trial would take place in.

When they reached the proper hallway, it was immediately apparent where the trial would take place. Witches and wizards of all variety were milling around outside one of the doors. Some looked like representatives of the Press, others Draco thought he vaguely recognized- perhaps Ministry employees or socialites- and still others were curious onlookers.

Draco glared at them. Not one of them had any business being here. His gaze roved through the crowd, his scowl deepening. His eyes, however, stopped dead when they reached a grizzled mane slightly above most of the heads in the crowd. _It couldn't be_, Draco thought. But it was. An unpleasant sensation of being watched stole over him, and when Mad-Eye Moody turned around, his electric-blue eye was locked on Draco and his mother, while the non-magical eye continued to scan the crowd.

Draco tried to avoid the single eye that was staring at him, instead looking determinedly down at his shoes. The feeling lifted eventually, and he looked up to see the crowd begin filing into the courtroom. The clunk of Moody's wooden leg was audible even over the excited chatter of the crowd. It creeped Draco the hell out.

Draco and Narcissa made their way into the court. It was a broad circular room with a high ceiling. It was surrounded on all sides by wooden benches, though half of it was separated from the rest, distinguishing the Wizengamot from the crowd. They ascended the stairs to the wooden benches, sitting apart from everyone else, closest to the front. There was a chair in the center wrapped in chains. Draco suspected that this was where his father would be. There was no sign of Esme.

Narcissa sat nervously, picking at her nails while she waited for the trial to begin. Draco was tempted to do the same, but something caught his eye. Over on the Wizengamot side of the bench, which was directly across from them, a flash of lime green was visible in the hands of Cornelius Fudge. Draco goggled. Of all the people he had expected to see across from him, Fudge was right up there with the Dark Lord.

Cornelius Fudge was definitely looking the worse for wear. He looked like a man who had aged a great deal in a very short time. His face was tight and wrinkled, and he clutched the bowler hat so firmly it turned his knuckles white. Clearly the strain had gotten to him, and why not? The man had embarrassed himself in front of the entire wizarding community.

Draco supposed that Fudge was only still here because there had not been time to choose his successor yet. Still, this wasn't good. Lucius had been a big part of Fudge's ruin- Death Eaters crawling around the Ministry right under everyone's nose. Not to mention that Fudge had been so close to his father.

In the time before the trial began, Draco watched Fudge, who was sitting there staring blankly across the court, his gaze unfocused, his mouth compressed to a hard line. He wondered what Fudge was thinking about so intently, and with a grim satisfaction figured that he was probably trying to work out how long he had to live. If Draco had to place a wager, he wouldn't bet it at very long.

The courtroom rapidly descended into silence once a call for order was made. Every eye in the room was on the door on the far side of the court that the accused would step through. They waited with bated breath, and at last the door was lifted, disappearing into the ceiling, and Lucius Malfoy stepped through.

It was clear to Draco, but perhaps not to anyone else, that Azkaban was having its way with him. His skin, while usually pale, had reached a nearly ghostly sheen. The normally blond hair was now closer to silver than ever before. There was a dullness present in his normally hawk-like eyes.

Despite all of this, however, he still carried himself with his patented strut, and strode over to the chair in the middle of the room. The chair was covered in chains, which Draco could only assume wrapped themselves around the occupant. His father ignored this, instead sitting in it and peering at the Wizengamot rather imperiously, quite like the way he would stare at Draco when he had displeased him as a child. The chains wound their way around his arms, legs, and torso, but he continued to gaze at them, as though he couldn't even feel it. Fudge purpled in response.

"Wizengamot trial of Lucius Malfoy, July fifteenth," Fudge dictated tersely, and Draco noticed for the first time that there was a gawky redheaded man sitting next to Fudge, recording the proceedings. One of the bloody Weasley's, Peter or Preston or fucking _Pretzel_ for all he cared. The redhead spoke straight to his father: "You are one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, resident of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire?"

"Yes," his father said coldly.

Draco's loathing for the court intensified.

"You are here," Fudge said, calling out in a cold, clear voice, "because of the charges levelled against you. Trespassing on Ministry property, being party to Death Eater activities, affiliation with the Death Eaters, and reporting directly to He Who Must Not Be Named, which are grounds for High Treason. If you are found guilty of these crimes, a minimum sentence of life imprisonment in Azkaban will be the least harsh of measures levelled against you. Do you accept these terms?"

Lucius' lip curled. "And if I refuse?" he sneered.

The colouring on Fudge's face, already dark, flushed still darker. "The alternative is that you willingly forfeit your right to a trial and return to Azkaban, serving a life sentence."

There was a pause, just long enough for Lucius to make it clear that it was intentional, and then he said, "It seems I have no choice but to accept."

Fudge turned back to the Weasley. "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, acting Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. And I believe you have some sort of defence, yes?"

"That's right," called Esme, stepping forth from the shadows. "Esme Margaret Greengrass, acting as defence for Lucius Malfoy."

"And how long have you been practicing law?" came a deep voice from the other side of Fudge. It was Amelia Bones.

"Over eighteen years now," said Esme with pride. Amelia nodded her approval.

"Right then," said Fudge. "The charges against the accused are as follows: he was found, on the sixth of June, inside the Ministry of Magic, after hours, in an area strictly secured from the public. Not only this, but he was found in the garb and the company of Death Eaters. Under testimony provided by Harry James Potter, the accused was there under orders from He Who Must Not Be Named himself, and had been working for him indefinitely before this point."

Esme spoke loudly in front of the audience, "These are audacious claims you make, and there may very well be evidence pointing to the truth of them. What you've overlooked, however, is that my client was acting directly under the Imperius curse." She paused for emphasis. "My client has a previous history of being used by Dark Forces. If you recall, he was indicted in 1982 on similar charges to these, and as you may remember, he was cleared. My client is wealthy, extremely well-connected, and has access to information about the Ministry. It makes him a prime target for those who would devolve to such a level. My client has never and will never be a willing follower of the Dark Lord, has never taken orders from the Dark Lord, and is a proud supporter of the Ministry and its causes."

Lucius said nothing, but looked coldly up at the interrogators. Draco supposed that it had been prearranged with Esme that she would speak for him.

"Do you have any more testimony to provide?" Fudge asked, scowling.

"I would like to bring up a witness."

"Very well," Fudge snapped, waving at her to proceed.

Draco was very curious to see who Esme planned to use as a witness. He looked eagerly toward the door that she had come through, waiting for it to open. He barely noticed that his mother was standing up and making her way from the bench. His head snapped up. His mother was a witness? To what? He watched as she made her way down to the floor. Esme had never mentioned this. Perhaps it was last-minute. Perhaps even his mother didn't know beforehand. It was impossible to know now.

His mother stood on the opposite side of his father as Esme, and looked up at the interrogators, more nervous than Draco had ever recalled seeing her.

"And you are?" boomed Madame Bones.

"Narcissa Persephone Malfoy," she answered, her voice wavering slightly.

"And Lucius Malfoy is your husband?"

"Yes."

"You live together?"

"We do."

"How long have you been married?"

"Twenty years, though I have known him since I began attending Hogwarts in 1965."

This seemed to satisfy Madam Bones, who nodded and ceased her questioning. Perhaps she preferred strong families, Draco mused. The Malfoys were among the oldest wizarding families, and there were few lines that were stronger.

"And how do you plan to defend your husband? The words of his wife will do very little in the way of testimony," Umbridge piped up sweetly.

"Words may not content you," Narcissa responded gravely, "but I hope that my memory may sway you."

Fudge looked at her dangerously. "Did you know, Mrs. Malfoy, that I don't _have_ to examine your memory? That there is _nothing_ keeping me from throwing your husband to the Dementors instantly?"

Narcissa blanched and stood perfectly still. Draco watched with bated breath as Umbridge turned to whisper something to Fudge. His scowl became more pronounced. Finally he sighed in resignation, and motioned for her to proceed.

Draco didn't know what Umbridge had said to the Minister, but whatever it was had changed his mind. Draco knew that Umbridge was a friend of his father's, though nothing Death Eater related, so he wasn't sure just how much defending she was willing to do.

He watched curiously as she waved her wand in a broad arc and a large basin landed in the hall next to his mother, who seemed rather unperturbed by its presence. Draco figured it must be a pensieve, a sort of storage bin for memories. But how would everyone see the memories?

Narcissa put the tip of her wand to her temple and withdrew a silvery strand of something Draco supposed must be memory. She lowered her wand into the basin and the silvery substance disappeared into it.

Narcissa murmured something Draco could not hear as she pointed her wand at the penseive. With a flash, the silvery substance of the basin was thrown up against the wall, forming into what looked unmistakably like a screen. Narcissa pulled her hair back and dipped her face into the penseive.

The silvery contents contorted and changed colour until it was clear they were looking into a dimly lit room. It was obviously night. The view changed, the viewer looking around, and it became clear that they were seeing through someone's eyes. His mother's, he assumed.

His mother began to walk toward a bed, and to Draco's surprise, he recognized it to be his parents'. And sure enough, there they both were, sleeping. He tried not to think about how he could be seeing this through his mother's eyes if his mother was also there sleeping. He just watched.

After everyone in the chamber had clearly seen that it was his parents, asleep in their bed, his mother turned to the door across the room and stood, watching. No fewer than 30 seconds passed in the silence, and then the door to the room burst open, with men in robes flooding in.

Their faces were masked, and it was clear that they were Death Eaters. As soon as the door burst open, his mother screamed, while his father snatched his wand from the bedside table and began firing curses at the doorway. One of the Death Eaters went down instantly.

But just as soon as it began, it was over. There were too many of them, and his father was hit with a stunning spell, and he slumped over in bed. His mother sprang out of it and ran to the other side of the room, attempting to hex anyone that got close to Lucius.

"Tell anyone about this, and we'll be back for you next, lovely," one of them growled. Draco didn't recognize the voice, muffled by the mask.

His mother was disarmed and stood there, tears running down her face, as they gathered her husband up and Disapparated.

The memory ended there, and Narcissa's head emerged from the basin, quite dry.

It was a genius plan. They had staged this scene before the night at the Ministry. It had been his father's order. Confident though he was in the Dark Lord's plan, he knew that if he was found in the Ministry in any unofficial capacity, it could be the death of him.

"The date on this memory is the fifth of June, at 2:04 AM," Narcissa said. "In the early morning of the next day, my husband was found inside the Ministry, acting under the Imperius curse. Do you have any further questions for me?"

There was quite a bit of muttering in the chamber. From what Draco could hear, it sounded favourable.

"Yes!" Fudge nearly screamed at her, his eyes popping slightly. He leered at her. "If these men were really there to abduct your husband and use him for illicit purposes the next day, why wouldn't you report to the ministry that your husband had been abducted?"

"It was as you saw," she said. "I was told that if I said anything, they would be back for me. Fearing for my own life, I stayed silent. Before I could lodge any kind of report with the Ministry, however, you had arrested Lucius, and so here we are."

"Very well, very well," Fudge snapped. "A call to vote is now in order. Those in favour of convicting Lucius Malfoy, raise your hand now."

Draco watched in apprehension. He had never thought it would come down to a vote. A good many raised their hands in favour of conviction. He hastily tried to count, but they had their hands down before he could come up with a proper total. Fudge however, nodded, and said, "Those in favour of dismissing the charges?"

Hands went up again. A good many hands. Draco looked around hopefully. Could his father really be let go? Was his influence combined with Esme's and Umbridge's enough to get him loose?

Fudge's face turned a darker shade. In a rumbling voice, he announced, "The final tally is 43 in favour, 51 against." Draco couldn't believe it, his father had gotten off!

"_However_," Fudge was quick to add, "As acting Minister of Magic, I overturn this judgment, as it is within my power to do so. There is nothing here to suggest that this memory we have seen wasn't staged by the Death Eaters themselves, a group which, according to the testimony of Harry Potter, Mr. Malfoy is extremely close with. Furthermore, there is no evidence here to suggest that Lucius Malfoy was acting under the Imperius Curse while breaking the law. And thus, it is my final judgment that Lucius Malfoy will serve a life term in Azkaban."

Draco reeled. The courtroom was suddenly filled with chatter. The magical chair his father was chained in was raised from the floor and began to levitate back toward the doorway that he had entered in. Lucius' eyes bulged and he screamed out, "JOIN THEM! JOIN THEM OR DIE!"

His eyes searched the courtroom wildly, in what Draco assumed was an act. And sure enough, they settled on him. His father blinked slowly, and Draco understood that the message had to be for him. Join or die. He felt sick.

The doors closed, and his father disappeared behind them. Draco didn't remember leaving the courtroom, being jostled through the hallway by the crowd all around him. He didn't know where his mother was. His world was on mute, except for the slow pounding of his heart. His breathing was shallow. Join or die. _Join or die_.

His world was now spinning like a top, and he was unsure now whether it would ever stop.

A/N: That's IT. Sorry for the MASSIVE wait. I've been working on this chapter for SO LONG NOW. And I'm just getting it done. Forgive me? It was a good one, right? Tell me what you think in a REVIEW, please! And the next one will HOPEFULLY be up sooner!


	6. Inevitabilities

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 6: Inevitabilities

Draco and Narcissa left the courtroom that afternoon without looking back. They were surrounded by reporters, but neither of them stopped for a moment until they entered the fireplace that would take them home. His father's ringing pronouncement, "Join or die," still echoed in Draco's mind. Now he knew that his father craved power. All Death Eaters did. But his father was different. His father would never sacrifice his family for power. He kept repeating that to himself while he paced his bedroom. He was much too worried to sit still, and since his room was large enough for ample pacing, he took advantage.

At last, he decided he needed to have dinner. There was no point at all to starving himself, he knew, so even though he wasn't hungry, he summoned the elf to his room and requested something. He didn't really care what.

"Very good, master," the elf squeaked before disapparating with a loud crack. But just as the elf faded into nothing, his door burst wide open and his mother flew in. She looked positively hysterical, her eyes wide and fearful.

"You _musn't_ believe what he said," she said forcefully. "Draco, he'd sell his own blood to save himself from the fate that awaits."

Draco snorted. "Clearly you think _very_ highly of your own husband."

She smacked him across the mouth. He glared at her and she glared right back. "_Enough_. I will not have you acting like a petulant schoolboy right now. This is deadly important, Draco. We have other options-"

"Oh, _really?_" Draco spat. "It doesn't seem like we do, _mother_. Unless you care to join up with the dear old Order of the Phoenix our options seem limited to sitting around, waiting to be killed, or cooperating with the Dark Lord."

She hissed at him. "Don't you dare say such a thing. This family has many friends. There are means available to us."

She kept on like this, repeating line after line of excuses, and Draco gradually tuned her out. If they had any options they'd be working on taking advantage of them immediately. She was only doing this to try and placate him, to keep him from doing anything rash.

But Draco had already concluded that he was going to need to do something _very_ rash in order to stay alive. In order to keep his family alive.

Narcissa, having realized that he was completely zoned out, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Draco, I'm serious. Promise me you won't try and take this into your own hands."

Draco eyed her coldly. "Mother, I'm not about to run off and do anything stupid. Don't you think that if there was anything I could do, I'd be out doing it _now_, instead of listening to you blather on?"

Narcissa glared at him suspiciously but nodded and left. He felt certain that she didn't trust him, but if she was willing to let it drop then he at least had room to think.

What he _really_ needed right now was to talk to his father. His father would have the answers; he'd know what to do. What Draco was supposed to do. But of course that was impossible. His father was in Azkaban and he couldn't just go waltzing in to have a chat.

Who else could he turn to? Obviously his mother would be of no use to him. _Think, Draco, think._

And then the answer, which was so blindly simple, hit him over the head. He smacked a palm into his forehead. _Snape_. The answer seemed so obvious to him now.

But could he trust Snape? He's always been a close friend to the Malfoys. And he knew that he was a part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Yes, Snape was the person to go to. He was sure that Severus would be reluctant, but he was Draco's only choice.

But where _was_ Snape? He was sure that the man had a hideout somewhere, as staying at the castle for the summer might have gotten rather awkward when he returned in the night dressed as a Death Eater and covered in blood.

Given the Potions' Master's prodigious talents, Draco highly doubted that he'd be able to find him if the man did not want to be found. And so Draco would have to approach him openly first. This was not as he would've liked. The less choice Snape had in the matter, the more useful he would be, after all. But if it was the only way...

Draco sat down at his desk and pulled out some parchment. He had certainly been doing a lot of letter-writing lately. He dipped his quill and let it hover over the parchment, and thought carefully about how he would phrase it.

_Professor,_

_We need to talk about that Potions extra-credit assignment you gave me to work on over the summer. I'm having a lot of problems with it, and my resources are quite limited. I would write down my questions, but I think it would be easier for you to tutor me in person. If you would be so kind as to arrange a time and date, I could have my parents fill out any sort of permission form necessary._

_Yours,_

_Draco Malfoy._

He figured that this would suffice. All of the mail travelling in and out of Malfoy Manor would doubtless be searched, but he was fairly certain that his letterwas innocuous enough to avoid suspicion.

He sent the letter off, with instructions for it to be delivered to Severus Snape. His owl had never failed to deliver a letter before, and he was certain that she wouldn't fail now, even if he had no clue where Snape could be hiding.

He spent the rest of the night trying to pass the time as best as possible. He bewitched a set of Wizard's Chess pieces to play against him, he read more of Quidditch Quarterly, and, when the weather wasn't completely unbearable, got out to walk around the extensive property of Malfoy Manor.

The entirety of the next day passed without any sign of a reply. Draco had expected this. Merlin only knew what Snape was up to these days. He was sure that the man kept busy, in any case.

Around 10 PM, he was lying on his bed, contemplating falling asleep, when his fireplace burst into flames. Green flames. Half a second later, out stepped Severus Snape, adorned from head-to-toe in his usual black.

His lip curled. "I thought it courteous to offer you more warning than Apparition can afford."

Typical Snape, Draco thought. That half-second _really_ gave him proper warning. What if he'd been undressing, or... _other things_? Draco forced the thoughts from his mind. Snape was here and he had more important things to worry about.

Draco opened his mouth to begin speaking, but Snape cut him off. "In the future," he drawled, "I can be reached at Spinner's End. This is extremely privileged information and thus I expect your absolutely secrecy. I'm only providing it because I think it would be extremely unwise to further tempt the Ministry with letters addressed to me. You will find a return letter denying your request for private lessons on its way as we speak."

Snape sat heavily in the chair at the writing desk and let out a sigh. This startled Draco more than anything he had seen so far this night. Snape's mask slipped for only a moment, and what he saw scared him further. Snape looked... almost... _vulnerable_. He was tired and worried and obviously stressed. But just as soon, the mask was back up, and Snape's face smoothed into that look of implacable blankness.

"I gathered from your letter that you needed a word with me."

Draco sighed and filled him in with the short version of the trial, focusing on the dire message that Lucius had given before he was taken away.

"And now it looks like my only option to keep myself and my entire family from being killed is to enter into the service of the Dark Lord."

"I would strongly advise against that."

This took Draco aback. "What?"

"Do you realize what it was that got your father sent to Azkaban in the first place?"

"Well, he was in the Ministry with the Death Eaters, right?"

"Yes, but are you aware of _why_ he was there?"

"Privileged information," Draco said, with a trace of bitterness in his voice.

"He was there to retrieve a powerful weapon for the Dark Lord. A weapon that needed to get into the Dark Lord's hands, and not Harry Potter's, at all costs. Before his embarrassing arrest," Snape hissed, "Your father lost the weapon to Potter, and then failed to retrieve it again before it was destroyed."

Draco blanched. So it wasn't that his father had just gone and made himself useless to the Dark Lord by being thrown into Azkaban. This was a million times worse. He had failed the Dark Lord personally.

"So then _why_ does my father insist that I put myself in the service of the Dark Lord?"

"I don't know. To perhaps save himself? For the time being, Azkaban acts as a buffer between himself and the Dark Lord. But that cannot last forever, as you doubtlessly know. Perhaps you are to act as the sacrifice, to placate the Dark Lord."

Draco growled. "My father wouldn't do that."

"I would also like to believe that," Snape said coldly. "Perhaps your father has no choice. Perhaps he knows that the Dark Lord will demand that you take his place."

"And you? What do you know?"

Snape's face remained expressionless. "I only know that the Dark Lord is going to want vengeance against your father for his blunder in the Ministry. If you were to pledge yourself in his service, you would be punished for your father's errors."

"But what if I could do better than my father?" Draco said quickly. "What if I could satisfy him?"

"Draco you are a sixteen year old underage wizard," Snape said harshly. "There is supremely little you can do to satisfy the desires of the Dark Lord."

Draco flushed. "You don't know that! I'm sure I could be useful. All he wants is for me to join. To take my father's place. That's all. I could do that." Manic hope was gleaming in his eyes.

"That is not how the Dark Lord works and you know it. He would send you to your death sooner than provide you with any real task, Draco!"

"Then _what the fuck am I supposed to do?"_ Draco yelled.

Snape remained quiet for a time. "Have you considered the possibility that it was not the Death Eaters that your father urged you to join?"

Draco looked bewildered. "Then what... Do you mean to tell me that he wants me to join _The Order?_ Are you _daft?_ They'd just chuck us to the Ministry and let them sort us out. We'd be dead the next day."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said Snape, but Draco was already shaking his head. "No way. There's no hiding from the Dark Lord."

"Yes, there is. You just have to hide in _plain sight_, Draco. Don't break the routines of your life. Act as though everything is normal, and you may be spared in return for your father.

"I can't leave my father for death!"

"You can and you will!" Snape seized him by the shoulders. There was a glint in his eye Draco had never seen before. "Would you rather your father paid for his mistakes, or your entire family was erased from existence? He can do it, Draco. With the flick of his wand, he can make it as though you were never here. If you are extremely fortunate, he may spare your father. You can be certain that he will have no mercy for you."

"So you expect me to just sit here and wait it out. Wait for my father to be claimed?"

"It is not an easy fate but it is the only one that awaits you. Azkaban will not be under Ministry control for much longer and when the Dark Lord takes it for his own, your father will be dealt with."

Draco weighed the possibilities. It would be so easy for him to waste away the summer, and return to school in the fall, leaving his father to his own fate. But would it work? How could Snape be so sure that he and his mother would be left alone? There were so many questions that he just didn't have the answers to.

He needed time, more than anything. Time to think, to sort things out. And before he could get such time, he needed Snape out of his hair. He found it ironic, really, that just a day ago he had been so desperate to see him.

"Everyone always seems to give me the same advice," Draco muttered. "Sit here and be a good boy, Draco. Everything will fix itself."

Snape sat up sharply, looking suddenly agitated. "That's because it's the only advice available to you," he said quickly. He turned and swept his robes up. "I suggest you take it." And with that, he Disapparated with a loud crack.

Unless Draco was very much mistaken, he had just witnessed a Death Eater summoning.

The door burst open and Narcissa once more came flying into his room. "Who was that? Someone just Disapparated. Who was in your room?" she demanded at once.

"It was just Blaise Zabini," Draco lied smoothly. "Dropped by, wondering why I hadn't been writing. I explained that I didn't fancy having the contents of my letters read by some Ministry oaf. He wholeheartedly agreed. He just left before you came in, as you undoubtedly heard."

Narcissa sighed in relief. "Very well. But I would very much like it if you would tell me when someone Apparates into this house, Draco."

"I'll be sure to next time," he drawled.

She gave him one last long, searching look and then closed his door and exited.

And then Draco Malfoy was once more left alone with his thoughts.

A/N: This is a SHORT chapter, yes, but it's an important one! The next will follow very soon :]


	7. Conflicting Tales

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 7: Conflicting Tales

The next days passed with very little fanfare. Draco was stuck. He didn't _want_ to believe what Snape had told him, but he had to admit that it made sense. He didn't know who to believe, and so he was stuck. Ironically, he noted that thanks to his indecision, he was doing exactly as Snape had advised him: lying low and staying out of everyone's way. He didn't consider himself naive enough to be waiting for a 'sign', but he felt that _something_ had to come along eventually to influence his choice.

And, sure enough, something _did_ come along. It just came out of the proverbial left field.

Five days had passed since Draco's meeting with Snape. July was starting to wind itself down, and Draco was looking forward to August and the cooler temperatures that came with it. He had been coping with everything by visiting Daphne daily. He spent far more time there than he did at Malfoy Manor, and the company made the time go by much faster.

On the morning of the 21st, Draco arrived at Daphne's as usual, in time for breakfast on the veranda and a day of fun. He walked around to the backyard where he knew Daphne would be waiting for him.

She practically ran up to him. He smiled and kissed her. "Hey, Daph."

"You'll _never_ guess who just got home earlier!" she grinned.

"Oh, is your dad finally back, then?"

She nodded happily. This was good news for Draco. Andrew Greengrass might be able to help him in ways that Esme couldn't. As the male of the household, he would always be more connected to the... darker side of Slytherin life. That was just how it worked traditionally. There were exceptions, of course, like his crazy-as-hell aunt Bellatrix, but for the most part, women played a much smaller role in Death Eater affairs.

He wasn't sure whether Mr. Greengrass was a Death Eater himself. His father had never said anything about it. Being a lawyer, Draco doubted he would be able to commit the time to it. Most Death Eaters were above working for a living. His father certainly was. In any case, he figured that if the man was not a Death Eater himself, he would certainly be sympathetic to the cause. Nearly all purebloods were.

"That's great, Daph. I've been meaning to talk to him about, y'know, things, lately. I've just been waiting for him to get back."

"Oh, it gets better!" she said smugly.

Draco frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and leading him into the house. Draco trailed after her, breakfast quite forgotten. He followed, navigating the house he now knew quite well, and determined that they were heading for her father's study.

They reached the door in record time. Daphne was nearly out of breath, and paused for a moment to get it back before she knocked. "Dad? Can we come in?"

"That you, Daph?" came a voice from the other side of the door.

Daphne trilled an affirmative, and they were invited in. Waiting for them on the other side of the door was a tall man, nearly half a foot taller than Draco by his own guess. He had broad shoulders, but didn't seem particularly muscular. He had closely cropped grey hair and piercing icy blue eyes. Despite this, he didn't seem a very hardened man. In fact he was smiling warmly at them, and offered his hand out for Draco to shake.

"Mr. Malfoy!" he said, nearly wringing his arm. His voice was quite gruff, but not intimidating.

"Mr. Geeengrass, so nice to meet you at last," Draco replied smoothly.

"You might as well call me Andrew," he said, his grin turning wolfish. "I daresay you'll get to know me well enough for it to become comfortable eventually."

Draco shifted awkwardly. "Sure thing," he said quickly.

"So," said Andrew, "getting right to business. An opportunity has become available to me that I think you might be interested in."

This took Draco completely aback. What could a lawyer want with him? "Uhm, go on?" Draco said lamely.

"Working in law, it's routinely part of my job to interact with various prisoners. I need to get statements, testimony, and magical evidence from them all the time. It's just a part of the job. Now, under normal circumstances this is done by going through the Ministry to have prisoners temporarily released into a holding area. This obviously prevents me from having to interact with them while they're in prison. However, the opportunity to see them at Azkaban is always available to me. I can imagine you have a few questions you're dying to get your father to answer."

Draco looked up sharply, realizing what he was implying.

"If you would be willing, I could arrange for you to accompany me to Azkaban. I can't promise you much time with your father, but I daresay that a few minutes is better than none at all?"

"Yes, sir, certainly. That would be fantastic. What do you want in return, though?" Draco was becoming suspicious. This was very generous of Andrew, and Slytherins were never generous unless they wanted something.

Andrew laughed. "Spoken like a true Slytherin! Daphne, if you could just leave us in privacy for a moment."

Daphne glared. "I'm not going anywhere. Anything he can hear, I can too. Right, Draco?"

"Absolutely," Draco said firmly, nodding.

Andrew's voice suddenly became very cold. "Unfortunately that is _not_ the case. Leave, Daphne. At once."

Draco didn't like the way he had suddenly become so menacing, but Daphne left without further complaint, so he didn't bring it up.

Andrew cast a silencing charm on the door. That was enough for Draco. "Okay, why all the secrecy?" he snapped.

"Just don't want to be overheard," Andrew said dangerously.

"Look, I don't know what you're expecting, but there really isn't much I can give you besides money, and by the looks of things, you have no shortage of that."

"Oh, there's certainly something you can give me," Andrew growled.

"And what exactly would that be?" Draco snarled.

Andrew glared at him from over the desk. "I'll tell you what you can do for me. When it comes time for you to make your choice, you leave my daughter out of it. Don't drag her down with you."

Draco was extremely taken aback. "O-of course," he stammered. "I-I'd never do that to her. I don't even want that for myself!"

Andrew looked very shrewdly at him, as though testing the weight of his words. "Very well," he said, folding his hands and relaxing once more.

Draco smoothed the rumples out of his clothing and his face, regaining his composure as only a Malfoy is capable of. Andrew returned to his place behind the desk, and he smiled once more.

"When would you like to visit Azkaban?"

"I was hoping we could go today," Draco said quietly. Andrew looked up in surprise. "I am very short on time. The sooner I can get there the better."

Andrew thought for a moment and then nodded his agreement. "An afternoon jaunt to Azkaban! I can arrange that."

"Thank you," Draco said sincerely. He nodded at Andrew, who lifted the silencing charm.

"Of course I'll respect your daughter, sir!" he said in a loud voice, smiling.

"You better!" said Andrew, equally as loud, "or I'll flay you alive."

Draco waved and let himself out of the study. Daphne was waiting for him on the other side, looking concerned.

"What'd he want?" she asked anxiously, though Draco was sure she had overheard the end of their 'conversation.'

"Oh, nothing," Draco said shrugging. "Something about threatening to make me take an unbreakable vow and if I ever break your heart then he'll break my bones. The usual."

Daphne let out a noisy breath. "Sorry," she sighed. "He really is nice, most of the time."

"I can see that," Draco grinned at her.

"So!" she said, skipping along beside him. "We're off to Azkaban when?"

"This afternoon," said Draco, "but you're not coming." She faltered in mid-skip.

"And what makes you say that?" she asked in a dangerous voice, standing there with her arms crossed.

"Because it's Azkaban?" Draco replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that Daphne Greengrass and Azkaban couldn't possibly mix.

"And? You're going, so why can't I?"

"It's _Azkaban_, Daph. I don't _want_ to go, but I need answers. I don't expect you to go through that, either."

She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I obviously don't _want_ to go either. But you're going, and so I'm going too. That's all there is to it, Draco Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "Don't say I didn't try to dissuade you."

"And you made a very valiant attempt of it," she said with a snort.

"You know," Draco said, with a smirk, "this is technically going to be our first official date."

Daphne's eyes bulged. She looked slightly horror-struck. "Oh, no way! This can't count."

"I think it does. It's like we're going off on holiday together."

She laughed. "Yeah, Azkaban. Holiday for the damned, more like."

"Hey, I'll have you know the sunny shores of Azkaban are a _very _popular tourist destination!"

Daphne snorted. "We'll just have to see for ourselves then, won't we?" She grabbed his hand and they began to walk down the hall again together.

"We're going on our Date of the Damned or whatever, and that's that," Draco said. "But I must warn you- I shag on the first date."

Daphne stopped and stared at him.

"Only joking," he said, smiling sweetly. "I'm still a virgin. Saving it for the right girl."

Daphne _stared_ at him.

"Okay, that's definitely a lie," he said, laughing.

"That sounds more like the Draco Malfoy I know," she said sardonically.

"Hey! The Draco Malfoy you know _and love_."

"Whatever you say," she said, rolling her eyes. But she carried on walking back out to the veranda anyway.

Draco figured there wasn't anything he needed to bring with him, and he didn't see the need in bothering to let his mother know where he was going, so he joined the afternoon outside with Daphne. They opted for lunch instead of breakfast, and replaced their usual 'activities' with lounging around; conserving their energy. Azkaban takes a lot out of a person, and neither of them was foolish enough to think that just because they were together, they'd be exempt.

It was midday when Andrew stepped outside. "Are you ready to go?"

"We are," said Draco, with a grim smile.

Andrew looked at him curiously before Daphne piped up, and clutching Draco's arm, said "I'm coming too," in a very firm voice.

"Absolutely not," said Andrew, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I think she's already made up her mind," said Draco, faking exasperated tones. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she's determined."

"Daph, are you sure?"

"Sure am. If Draco's going then so am I."

Andrew shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn't try and stop her. "Alright, then. I was going to use Side-along Apparation to get there, but since you're coming, Daph, we'll have to go by floo."

"There are fireplaces connected to the Floo Network in Azkaban?" she said, goggling.

"Oh no, of course not. The nearest fireplace is on the coast, about 40 miles from Azkaban. It's part of the Ministry's security."

"Then how on earth are we supposed to get to Azkaban?" asked Draco.

"Patience, young Malfoy. You'll see soon enough." He realized Andrew was grinning at him and scowled back. This just made Andrew laugh.

Draco glanced at Daphne. She shrugged. He figured they would just follow her father's lead, then.

They followed him inside, and sure enough they stopped before the first fireplace they reached. Draco hadn't bothered to count how many were in the house, but he knew it was one of many. A jar on the mantle was filled with floo powder, and Andrew grabbed it before turning to them.

"Listen carefully," he said. "You're going to step into the fire and travel to Fenris Imports Headquarters."

They both looked at him curiously. He sighed. "You kids are too damned nosy for your own good. Fenris Imports is a company owned by the Ministry. The 'imports' are prisoners on their way to Azkaban. The nearest fireplace to Azkaban is of course owned by the Ministry."

Draco nodded. It made sense, of course, but he had a feeling that this was privileged information.

"Any questions?" Andrew asked. Both Daphne and Draco shook their heads no. With a nod, he stepped into the fireplace, which was easily big enough to accommodate a full grown man, and barked "Fenris Imports Headquarters!"

With a green flash, he had disappeared. Draco and Daphne looked at each other. "Well, ladies first," he smirked.

Daphne rolled her eyes, but stepped into the fire and repeated the destination. She too disappeared in a whirl of green flames. Once the ash had settled, Draco at last stepped in.

"Fenris Imports Headquarters," he repeated clearly. The familiar sensation of the Floo Network overtook him, and soon he spinning through nothingness. He landed in the fireplace quite hard, and stumbled out, scowling. No matter how many times he travelled by floo, it never got any easier.

He stared into the room. It wasn't terribly large, or terribly well-light. The walls were made of stone, and there was no light save for the torches bracketed in the wall. The lack of windows was depressing, but not entirely unexpected.

Daphne and Andrew were there waiting for him. They proceeded to the end of the room where a man, doubtlessly an Auror, was sitting behind a desk, looking at them quite curiously. They walked up to him, Andrew in the lead.

"State your name and business," the man behind the desk said.

"My name is Andrew Greengrass. I'm here to interview the prisoner Eric Knotts. These are my two business associates. Their names are unimportant and their business is their own."

Draco stared at him unbelievingly, until he saw Andrew's wand pointed at the man beneath the desk.

"Memory charm," Andrew said. Draco nodded knowingly.

"Here are your badges, nice man," the guard said dreamily. Daphne stifled a giggle.

He handed the three of them small silver badges which proclaimed 'Authorized visitor.' Draco hoped they had some sort of magic that would make the Dementors recognize that they were just visiting.

The guard waved them off. "You have a nice visit now." Draco thought the man sounded rather like an old lady.

Once they had exited the room through a magically sealed door (Draco could feel the current as he passed through the doorway and guessed he wouldn't have been able to do so without his badge), they stopped. Neither Draco nor Daphne knew where to go next. Andrew nodded back at the guard.

"It seems to be a personal side effect of mine."

Draco smirked. "You mean all of your memory charms end up that way?"

Andrew shrugged. "You'll find this next part pretty interesting."

Daphne grabbed Draco's hand. "Oh, holding hands. Very date-appropriate," he grinned at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"C'mere you two," barked Andrew. He was standing in front of a stone hallway, the architecture of which was wholly different from the rest of the building. It looked, to Draco's eye at least, much older than the rest. There were no torches, but it had large windows. Instead of being sealed with glass, however, it looked like they were sealed with magic.

The sea was visible some 40 feet away through the window, almost immediately at the end of the hallway. Draco wondered where it could possibly lead.

They reached the end of the hall, which was sealed off with a semi-transparent silver barrier. There were a couple of feet of hallway past the barrier, but after that it dropped off like a cliff into the precipitous sea below.

"What is this thing?" Draco asked.

"It's called the Slipstream," Andrew answered. "It's how people reach Azkaban but never leave."

"How does it work?" Daphne asked, sounding slightly afraid, probably because of the crashing sea only a few feet in front of them, but hundreds of feet below.

"It's quite simple, actually," Andrew said. "You just step through the barrier. The Slipstream will carry you across the sea to Azkaban. Its magic leaves traces on you, which, if you're not a prisoner, allow you to travel back through it when your stay has expired."

Draco nodded. It sounded simple enough.

"Thing is, though," Andrew continued, "That wouldn't make much for security, would it? If just anyone could waltz into a high speed transport between the mainland and the fortress, there'd be breakouts all the time at Azkaban."

"So how does it tell, then?"

"The Slipstream sort of has a personality. It's a bit... eccentric, but it can read your intentions. Through its magic, it knows if you're a prisoner or if you're visiting for other reasons. And because it knows your intentions, it also knows _why_ you're travelling to Azkaban. So we might get a bit of trouble from it over the security officer," Andrew warned.

"Great. Being hassled by a magical being that can toss me into the sea at the speed of sound. Fantastic," Draco snapped.

"Well, you should be fine. You're only going there for information. If it doesn't agree with your intentions, it _will_ let you go free. So just step out if anything goes wrong."

"Alright," Draco said, trying to hide his nervousness. He glanced around at them. They both seemed to be waiting for him to go first, so with a deep breath he plunged through the silver barrier. It was like standing under a waterfall.

_Hmmm,_ said a voice that he assumed had to belong to the Slipstream. He recognized that it was probably in his head, but it seemed to be echoing from all around.

_Please let me through, please let me through. I just need to talk to him._

_Yes, I know that. I can see into your heart, Draco Malfoy. I can see your deepest, darkest desires. Your thirst for power. Your lust for Daphne Greengrass. Your obsessive desire to please your father. I know all of it, Mr. Malfoy. _

Draco expressed his outrage at having his mind invaded via a number of profane thoughts.

_You wonder why I know these things? What business I have knowing them? Well, Mr. Malfoy, these things are all incredibly relevant to the decisions you are contemplating, and they are all very relevant to the decision I must make: whether to transport you to Azkaban, and allow you access to the one you seek._

_There is nothing wrong with me needing answers. The problem is that the only person who can give me the answers I seek happens to be locked away in Azkaban. _

_Ah, yes, but what you do with the information could be very wrong indeed. You can hide nothing from me, Draco Malfoy. I know what could happen based on what Lucius Malfoy tells you._

_That's for me to decide and not you, Slipstream. Your job is to see whether you're allowing evil people free reign to your prison. Am I an evil person?_

_No, Draco Malfoy, I can see that you're not evil. No man is evil. Each of you has an infinite capacity for good or evil at your disposal. It is man's greatest virtue, and also his greatest flaw. My only job is to see into the short term to make sure that no harm comes as a result of your visit._

_And?_

_See for yourself._

Draco glanced around, and realized that he was flying over the roiling sea below him. The afternoon sun was obscured by a dank haze that he figured had to do with the Dementors. He didn't feel like he was moving at all, but looking down, he figured that he was moving faster than any broom could.

It was completely odd. He could still feel the presence of the Slipstream in his head, but it remained silent through the rest of their journey. Admittedly, it was only a few seconds long, but for Draco it felt like much longer.

The fortress of Azkaban loomed in front of him, and he saw a tiny stone pathway waiting before him, a pathway surrounded, like the rest of the prison, by Dementors. Suddenly he was plunging into them and it was like a cold mist on his face, and a steel grip on his heart. His chest felt tighter than it ever had before, and he found it hard to draw breath.

The Slipstream dropped him off on the path. Dementors descended on him, but none got too close. They kept a distance of about 10 feet from him, but Draco didn't notice. The Dementors were causing horrible things to flash before his eyes...

And just as soon as it had begun, it had ended. He looked up, and only then did he realize that he was on the ground. Daphne's almond eyes stared down at him, full of concern.

"Are you okay?" It was more of a demand than a question, and he smiled up at her.

"Fine now that you're here."

She held out her hand once more, and he grabbed it and got up. "Not much of a date so far," he said, with a wan smile. She smiled back at him, and the warmth of it seemed to melt some of the ice around his heart. He could still feel the Dementors, but it was like they were only running at half-strength. He could force them out. Just as long as Daphne was there.

Andrew, who didn't seem to be faring quite as well as them, took the lead. He was extremely pale, but Draco figured he had been here before, and anyway, he was a competent wizard and so could deal with it. They followed the pathway toward what he supposed served as the entrance to Azkaban.

They made it inside, and were plunged into darkness. Draco stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust.

"Where is my father?" Draco asked.

"Cell block D. Number 77."

"Thanks. I can find him myself. Daph, I need you to go with your dad. I have to do this part alone."

Daphne began to protest, but Draco silenced her with a kiss. Andrew had surreptitiously begun peering in the opposite direction, staring quite intently at the stone wall.

"Daph, I'll find you guys soon enough. I just _have_ to do this myself. I'm sorry. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Daphne, with great reluctance, eventually agreed. Andrew gave Draco directions to find them, with instructions to hurry. Their visitor passes were only good for thirty minutes, and after that point, they would be drawn inexorably back into the Slipstream.

Draco wished he could cast _Lumos_ to at least have some light to see by, but he didn't dare break any more laws. The fact that he was here to begin with was suspicious enough. He didn't want to push it any more than he had to. And so he hurried through the darkness, half his mind focused on keeping the Dementors out of his head, the other on finding his father. He didn't even hear the jeers and catcalls coming from the cells he passed. He nearly jogged, his wand out in front of him, searching first for Cellblock D, and then cell 77.

71... 72... 73... He counted the cells until at last he reached 77. At first glance, it appeared empty. But then a bundle of rags in the corner shifted, and Draco realized that it was his father. Lucius was in bad shape. He stared wildly at the intruder in front of his cell, his knees pressed up close against his chest.

"Father?" Draco said sharply. He was in a bad way, worse than Draco ever could have imagined. Lucius, like Draco, was pale at the best of times, but now his skin was nearly translucent, and had taken on a waxy sheen. He seemed like a bag of ill-fitting bones as he shuffled toward the bars of his cell.

"Draco?" he whispered hoarsely. Draco could only nod in response.

"What on _earth_ are you doing here?" he said harshly. While Azkaban might have turned Lucius into a living corpse, it apparently had been unable to rob him of his temperament.

Draco almost, _almost_ found himself sighing in exasperation. He forced himself to calm down. He didn't have much time left. "I need answers," he hissed.

Lucius beckoned for him to continue, and so Draco did. Taking a deep breath, he launched into a hasty retelling of his encounter with Snape.

"And so," Draco finished, "he makes it sound like you would sell us all out at the first opportunity to get out of Azkaban. You would put your family to death so you could make it out alive."

Lucius shook his head emphatically. "I've always counted Snape among my dearest friends, but this is beyond the pale. You _musn't_ believe him, Draco. He's wrong. Wrong on every count. The Dark Lord recognizes a valuable servant, and I have _always_ been valuable to him. I will be free of the place soon, but until I can escape, I need you to take my place. The Dark Lord will take you and teach you many of the valuable things you need to be successful in life. Trust your aunt Bellatrix. She will look after you. You must present yourself to the Dark Lord, but you must be _extremely careful_, Draco. There are ways to approach the Dark Lord, ways to reach him through less conspicuous ways. You must go to him, and you must put yourself in his service. When I am free, I will retake my rightful place, and you can begin to rise through the ranks on your own. One day you will make a fine Death Eater, I'm sure of it."

"I'd always figured I'd end up joining," Draco said slowly.

Lucius sighed. "It's earlier than I would have liked, but we are left with no options. You must go to him."

"But how?" Draco demanded. But before Lucius could answer, Draco felt himself being pulled away. The Slipstream was recalling him.

"Fuck!" he yelled.

"You must go to him!" Lucius called out, his hands extending through the bars.

Draco flew backwards through the halls in a blur. He was moving so quickly, the prisoners had no time to even acknowledge his presence before he had flown past them and out of the building. He was moving along the path and then he burst free of the island and its stranglehold on him, and it was the most amazing sensation in the world, flying through the air in the afternoon sun, the sea crashing below him. He was _free_.

But was he really? His father's story went completely against Snape's. Snape had warned him that his father would do anything to get out of Azkaban. Was this just another ploy? Or did Snape have ulterior motives? He couldn't think about it now. He knew he'd have to soon, but not now.

He touched down in the stone hallway, and saw Daphne and Andrew waiting for him. He realized belatedly that the Slipstream had been quiet the entire journey. It wasn't until he passed through the barrier and felt it gone from his mind that he even noticed. There was something... calming about having it there. There was nothing he could hide from it, and so he didn't have to.

So it would seem, for a few brief seconds at least, Draco Malfoy truly _was_ free.

A/N: See what I mean about the faster updates? Not bad, eh? Expect the next chapter to follow shortly!


	8. The Downward Spiral

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 8: The Downward Spiral

They arrived back at the Greengrass Estates smack in the middle of a hallway. An elf carrying a tray laden with something nearly ran right into Draco, but he was quick enough to push the thing out of the way before any damage could come to his clothing, which he figured was probably worth more than three of the elf. It toppled into the banister with a cry and spilled the tray full of tea all over the floor.

"Elf! Watch what you're doing! Clean that up this _instant_." The elf cowered, but with a snap of its fingers the mess was cleared up and was sent on its way after a variety of threats involving bodily mutilation were directed its way, should such an incident occur in the future.

_It got off easy_, Draco mused. At Malfoy Manor, if an elf did something like that it would've seen the Cruciatus Curse. Then again, Death Eaters _were_ supposed to believe that violence was the solution to every problem.

Andrew set off down the hall toward his study, and waved goodbye to Daphne and Draco as they split off down a different hallway, heading, he assumed, toward her room.

She threw open the door, and again Draco's vision was filled with green. He just turned and smirked at her, and she stuck her tongue out, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"Hey, you don't have much room to talk, Mr. Green Boxers."

"They're not _all_ green. And besides, what kind of Slytherin would I be if I didn't own any green clothing?"

"Green silk boxers are a bit much, wouldn't you say?"

"I like comfort, thanks."

She snorted. "Well, what colour are they today, then?"

He lifted up his shirt. They were a silky grey, essentially silver because of the material.

"Ah," Daphne said, her eyes never leaving his waist. "Well then. Classy."

"As ever," Draco grinned mockingly, winking at her.

Daphne harrumphed and crossed her arms. Draco let go of his shirt and it fell over his trousers, untucked. He smirked at the glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

"Bit slow today, are we Daph?" Draco teased.

"Shut it, blondie." She scowled.

Draco laughed and reflexively ran a hand through his smooth silvery-blond hair. He hesitated a moment before walking over and sitting down next to her on her bed.

"So," Daphne said brightly, "that was an interesting first date."

"I think I've had worse," Draco conceded with a smile.

She hit him. "Is being a jackass in your blood or is it something you have to work at?"

He smirked. "Natural as breathing, Daph."

She moved closer to him. "That easy for you, huh?"

He pulled her on top of him and whispered into her ear, "There are a few things that are even easier. . ."

"Oh? Like what?" Before she could even begin to formulate how he would answer this question, his lips were pressed to hers, and they parted to allow his tongue to dart in, pressing against hers. They fought a battle in slow motion, except that neither of them could ever lose.

Together they pulled their clothes off, in the artificial dark of the four-poster's hangings. The sun hung low in the summer's sky, but even that couldn't match the heat of passion radiating from their skin. He showed her things beyond any she'd ever experienced, as their bed slowly rocked in the evening heat. Nothing stirred in the room except for the rhythmic chant of their bodies, skin on skin, connected at last. Finally he pulled her closer still, and with one final burst, the rapture slowly faded. They fell asleep together in her bed, and for just a few hours, Draco Malfoy was without a single worry. Though he couldn't know at the time, it was the last moment of his carefree youth.

The morning came, and Draco and Daphne slowly made their way out of bed. He gathered his rumpled clothing from the floor while she searched her drawers for something to wear.

"Quit staring at my ass!" she complained as she bent over her drawers in search.

"Not on your life," Draco grinned, struggling to button his trousers. He'd rather be taking them off again, but he had to return to Malfoy Manor.

"Fine," she smirked, spreading her legs out. "Deal with it."

Draco mock-groaned, "At this rate I'm never going to get out of here."

"Maybe I can make it worth your while if you hang around," she suggested, as she dropped to her knees, her search for clothes temporarily forgotten.

Draco found that, with only a tiny sliver of reluctance, his trousers were once more coming off.

Not much later, they walked downstairs together. Draco's hair was messy, and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but for once he wasn't sure he cared.

They talked and laughed together as they made their way toward the main foyer and the fireplace so that Draco could floo back to Malfoy Manor. Along the way however, they ran into Esme. She looked very flustered to see Draco so early in the morning, and he could watch the wheels behind her eyes turning as she slowly worked things out.

"Oh, hello Draco. I didn't know you were spending the night. . ."

"Neither did I, Mrs. Greengrass," Draco said with a thinly-veiled smirk, earning him a reproving look he wasn't entirely sure he didn't deserve.

They waved goodbye and carried on down the hall, hand in hand. Draco suspected that hand-holding might be a sign that the relationship was heading in an unfavourable direction, but he was in such a good mood that he forced the thought from his mind. They reached the fireplace and Daphne spun to say goodbye.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" she said, reaching up to kiss him.

"Absolutely," Draco said, kissing her again before stepping into the fireplace and vanishing. There were no proclamations of love; Draco didn't want to get into a summer relationship with anything as complicated as romantic emotions.

It seemed that Daphne understood this too, but sometimes he wondered whether she wasn't waiting for him to take things to the 'next level.' If she was, she would be sorely disappointed. Draco Malfoy only had one level, and she was on it.

He stepped out of the fireplace and brushed ash from his clothes. Wrinkled though they may be, he would not have anything being ruined by stray ash. For about the thousandth time, he considered learning cleaning spells, and then for the thousandth time dismissed it as being a poof sort of idea. He was pretty sure that his father would attempt to castrate him if dear old Lucius ever caught wind of him learning cleaning spells.

He proceeded through the halls with caution. He was fairly sure that his mother was still asleep, and if she wasn't asleep than she was awake from the day before. In either case, he didn't want to encounter her, and so he went as quietly and hastily as he could to his room before shutting the door behind him.

Draco had no plans of emerging that day, and he stuck to his goal, confining himself to his room as the afternoon slipped away. He spent the day reading, a guilty pleasure of his that he made sure the rest of Slytherin never found out about. In fact, he avoided it as much as possible while at Hogwarts, which was easy enough considering how busy his time there usually was.

He was just beginning to feel the first rumblings of hunger in his stomach when he began to hear muffled shouting from downstairs. _Shit, shit, shit._ It had to be the Ministry. Or worse. He grabbed his wand and threw the door open, flying down the hall with reckless disregard. He didn't know what was waiting for him, and he didn't care. It could be a battalion of Aurors. Or Death Eaters. In either case, he was going to have to fight.

When he reached the main staircase he slowed down to a tiptoe, edging around the wall to get a clear look at the main foyer. He blinked hard and looked again. No Aurors. Only one Death Eater. It was Goyle's father. He was arguing with his mother, who was on her knees, tears streaming down her face.

"Narcissa, the boy has to come. It is the Dark Lord's orders. You can't fight."

"I-I won't let you. I'll fight to the death if need be."

"I could crush you like a fly-"

"After all that Lucius has done for you! You of all people, Gareth!"

Goyle looked slightly guilty at this, but still stood defiant. "Lucius bows to the Dark Lord, as do we all."

She was hysterical now. "Lucius is rotting in Azkaban you twit! See what the Dark Lord has done for him! I won't let the same happen to my son!"

"Hold your tongue, woman!" Goyle shouted, anger turning his face an uglier colour. Narcissa drew her wand in response. Things were about to get dangerous.

"I'll go with you," Draco called from the top of the stairs. Goyle flinched in surprise and Narcissa whipped her head around, bewildered.

"You'll do no such thing!" she yelled as he slowly walked down the stairs.

"No. I have to do this. If I don't, then we'll all be dead." Narcissa looked like she was ready to die, but Draco glared at her. There was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent him from going, and she knew it. She turned back to Goyle.

"Where are you taking him?" she whispered.

"I don't know. There is a place nearby where another of our kind waits to disapparate with Draco, beyond the eyes of those stupid Aurors."

Draco's mind was racing. Was this it? Was he being given the chance he'd been told to seek out? This is what he'd wanted all along, wasn't it? To join? But no matter how he tried to convince himself of that, there was always the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him this was a trap, that the Dark Lord had no use for a 16 year old boy, that Snape was right and his father was only trying to save himself. Who to believe?

"Yaxley awaits," Goyle sneered, as Draco stood there, frozen. Narcissa broke into renewed sobs. She turned to plead with Draco. 

"Don't." Draco cut her off. "You don't have the power to stop me. Only Father does. And do you want to know what he told me?"

Narcissa's eyes widened.

"Oh yes, mother, I've seen him. And he told me to find the Dark Lord, and take his place."

"He didn't know what he was saying, Draco! He was probably delirious. Azkaban does unimaginable things to a person. I of all people should know."

Draco repressed a shudder. That was certainly true. Aunt Bellatrix was proof enough of that.

"Oh, he was clear enough. 'Take my spot with Them, or we all bite it' was very much the idea he was trying to get across."

There was a horrible look in her eyes. He stared at the floor.

"You can't go. What if he kills you for Lucius' mistakes?"

He sneered. "The Malfoys are still loyal to the Dark Lord. Father is in Azkaban, not in hell. The Dark Lord will command me, and I will do his bidding; only I will not fail where Father did."

Goyle gave a murmur of approval, and Narcissa slumped, defeated. Draco exhaled, the tension in the room defusing somewhat. He only hoped that he was right. He turned to Goyle.

"I can't apparate yet." Draco warned him.

"Can't apparate 'cause of the wards, anyway."

"Then why aren't we going by floo powder?"

Goyle grinned. "There's no floo network where this place is. We need to get off the grounds and then apparate out of here."

Draco nodded his assent.

"Let's go," Goyle grunted, and Draco set off behind him out of the front doors of Malfoy Manor and down the lane. The sun was blinding, sitting on the horizon as it was, but Draco could still see three Aurors approaching.

"Great," Goyle muttered.

The Aurors all had their wands drawn. What the hell was this? They hadn't yet left Malfoy Manor and the Ministry was chasing them down?

"Stop right there!" one of the goons said. "Identify yourselves and _lower your wands!_" screeched one of the others, shaking his wand in their direction in what he must've thought to be a threatening manner.

"Draco Malfoy and Gareth Goyle," Draco snapped. "Now who the hell are you and what on earth gives you the authority to command me on my own property?"

"I am John Dawlish and I urgently advise you to take a more careful tone, young man."

"Answer the question," growled Goyle.

"Very well. The Ministry of Magic, tasked as it is with eradicating He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers, has posted Auror details on all residences with known links to the Death Eaters."

"And?" Goyle crossed his arms.

"And is Lucius Malfoy not currently in Azkaban because of his affiliation with the Death Eaters? Listen, Mr. Goyle, we're going to need to ask you and Mr. Malfoy a few questions."

Goyle glanced over nervously and Draco stepped forward. "I'll handle this. What do you want to know? And be quick about it, we must be on our way."

"What is your business beyond Malfoy Manor?"

"My business is my own," Draco snapped. This drew him warning glares from the three wizards. How he would have loved to curse the three of them and leave them there in the lane, but that wouldn't go over well. He took a calming breath and said, "Mr. Goyle is escorting me to an appointment."

"Why isn't your mother, your legal guardian, taking you to this 'appointment'?"

Draco ground his teeth. "Because she's otherwise indisposed. Mr. Goyle is a family friend, and you are making us _very late_. Unless you can somehow prove on the spot that my leaving this Manor is the direct result of Death Eater activity, I advise _you_ to get out of my way, before I lodge a formal complaint with the Ministry."

He could see the gears and cogs turning behind their eyes grind to a halt, desperately searching for some way to detain him. He smirked. There was nothing they could do.

The one called Dawlish stepped forward and sighed. "Very well, you can be on your way, then."

Draco and Goyle stepped around him and the other two and continued on through the gates at the end of the lane. A couple of steps beyond that and Goyle grabbed his arm and they disapparated.

In a fraction of an instant his entire existence was forced through a sponge. A sponge made of death. But then he resurfaced on the other side, gasping for air. Goyle grinned at him. "Clears out the sinuses, make no mistake."

He surveyed the area. They were standing in a forest, _somewhere_, and the sun had all but disappeared, making it hard to see. The light of the moon, which was half full, was more useful.

"Where are we?" he lowered his voice. He didn't know why. They were in a forest in the middle of nowhere, as far as he could tell.

Goyle shrugged. "This is just an in-between place. Come on. Ready to apparate again?"

Draco was not enthusiastic but nodded anyway. Goyle grinned again. "It's called a double tap. It'll keep that Ministry filth off our backs."

And so they disapparated once more, and the sensation did not improve at all. In fact, once they had landed, Draco found himself rather nauseous. The sticky night air did not help, but he attempted to catch his breath anyway.

"Come on," Goyle said after a minute. They were on a dirt path, clearly in the middle of rural England, but it was so dark that Draco couldn't even begin to guess where they were. They walked on in silence for maybe five minutes before Goyle halted, silent.

"Well," Goyle said, satisfied. "Yaxley will be along in no time. You just wait here. See you." And before Draco could say a word, Goyle had disapparated, leaving him alone in the dark in the middle of an abandoned road in _who the fuck knows where._ Great, just great.

Draco fought the urge to panic. He couldn't do anything except pray that Yaxley was coming, and that he wasn't coming to kill him. He had nowhere to go, anyway. He couldn't run- he had no idea where he was. He couldn't apparate either, though maybe he could try it as a last resort.

His plans for escape were interrupted by a crack that split the night air. There stood Yaxley in the middle of the road, wearing robes as dark as the night around them. Draco pulled out his wand.

"There'll be no need for that, Draco." He looked around. "Where in the name of Merlin is Goyle?" he growled.

"Disapparated after he dumped me here," Draco said with a sigh.

"I'm going to curse his balls off! What if you were intercepted? What if the Ministry followed the trail? That _idiot_, leaving you alone here. I apologize, Draco. That was not part of the plan."

"So there's a plan, is there?"

"Yes indeed. Now let's keep moving, shall we?"

Draco nodded and fell into line behind Yaxley, who was walking up the dirt road, which turned into a narrow path as they went along. Draco tried to figure out where they could possibly be going, but came up short. Images of magical rituals and dark cult practices in forests in the dead of night sprang to mind from the stories of his childhood. But that was silly. These were the Death Eaters. They didn't fuck around with hokey stuff like voodoo.

At last, Yaxley stopped. Draco didn't know why, as the only difference was that their personal corner of Middle of Nowhere now contained a forest of trees. There was even less light because the area was so heavily wooded it blocked out the moon and stars.

Yaxley reached out and grabbed Draco's arm again, and for a second he steeled himself to apparate, but he felt himself being pulled forward instead. Evidently he had just passed through some kind of barrier, because a large, run-down house appeared where previously there had been nothing but trees.

"Need to have the Dark Mark to get through, but of course if you're with me then it works just the same."

Draco wondered what was waiting inside this old abandoned house. Perhaps it was a test, some way for him to prove himself loyal to the Dark Lord. Maybe this was an Order hideout that they'd found out. He quickly remembered the barrier and mentally crossed that idea out. To his abject horror, the idea he kept revisiting the most was the worst. That the Dark Lord was waiting inside this abandoned house in the middle of god-forsaken nowhere to kill him for his father's failure.

Was this where they brought their prisoners, kicking and struggling, to be tortured and then killed, safely hidden away where no one could ever find them? And here he was, blind as a sheep, being _willingly lead_ to his death. _If that wasn't the fucking Malfoy way._

Yaxley gestured for him to open the door, and so he did, stepping through into the darkness. He lit his wand and peered around, moving as slowly as possible. The house creaked incessantly around him. Dust coated everything, but a pathway through the dust to a table in the corner suggested recent use. The fact that he didn't see bodies anywhere was slightly encouraging.

Yaxley stepped in behind him. "Keep moving. There's a book on the table. Go and open it up."

And suddenly Draco knew that this was it. Whatever was going to happen, this book was going to cause it. He didn't even realize he'd begun walking over to the table until he was halfway there. He forced himself to keep going, until he could properly see the cover in the wand light. 'The Book of Counted Shadows' was printed in spiky black letters across the front.

_Well that sounds promising, really._

Without any last words, without even a glance backward at Yaxley, he reached for the book. The second his fingers touched it, the world went black, spinning away in a rush of wind and sound.

A/N: This has been SO overdue. I have my reasons. Expect more though, as always, whenever. There was a Harry and the Potters reference in here, as well as a Sword of Truth reference. Imaginary cookies to anyone who can guess one or both of them!


	9. Trial by Darkness

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 9: Trial by Darkness

The Dark Lord sat at the end of a long, dark table made of marble. He was alone, save for the company of Nagini, who had wound herself around one of the table legs, coiling contentedly on the floor by his feet. There was no light save for the solitary window behind him that allowed a sliver of moonlight to enter the room, illuminating his deathly white skin. He heard noises erupt from outside the double oak doors. A grim smile played across his face. Good. Dolohov had delivered the boy.

Tonight, Draco Malfoy was going to die. His corpse would be thrown before his mother, and then she would die. Provided Lucius did not die in Azkaban, he would also meet his end at the hand of the Dark Lord. His incompetence had failed him for the very last time, and had cost the Dark Lord a crucial weapon that he had been so close to gaining- the prophecy.

He splayed his hands carefully on the table, his wand resting just beyond his fingertips. A cold parody of a smile crept across his face. _Soon._

The door opened, and Dolohov marched in, pulling the boy by the arm. The Dark Lord felt a small flutter of satisfaction as the boy's face went from pale to sickly green at the sight of him. There was nothing quite as indulgent as torture. Killing was necessary, and pleasurable, but it was the torture, the sweet lead up, that made it the rapture that it was.

Dolohov unhanded the boy, and bowed, exiting the room silently. The door closed behind him, and the boy got to his knees, shaking with fear. They were alone, utterly, and not a sound could be heard from the hall outside or the summer night beyond. The boy seemed to have realized that no one was coming to save him. His foolish parents were out of reach.

He swallowed heavily and looked up at the Dark Lord. His eyes made it about chest high and stopped. "Command me, my lord."

The smile vanished from Voldemort's face. Servile until the end, Malfoys.

Draco Malfoy was trying very, very hard to restrain his shaking. He had a pretty good idea of why he was here. Not just anyone got a personal audience with the Dark Lord. Only those who did his most important work- and those he killed. Even Draco wasn't arrogant enough to believe that he would be brought here, like this, for the former.

But neither was Draco entirely without weapons. The Malfoys hadn't survived this long by quitting in the face of near-certain death. He had to think of something, anything, to get himself out of here alive. But all he could think about was how Snape had warned him this would happen. Snape had to have known this would happen. Snape knew he wouldn't listen. It was his fault. _His_ fault.

"Do you know why you're here, Draco?" The Dark Lord said softly, the maliciousness in his voice absent from his face.

Draco swallowed. "I have some idea, yes." The Dark Lord gestured for him to go on. This was it. It was either give up, and be killed, or talk his way out. The Dark Lord smiled cruelly. And suddenly he remembered what his father had said. It was his only chance, now.

"You've brought me here to swear my undying loyalty to you, so that I can become a Death Eater." The words came tumbling out of his mouth, and he barely registered saying them. More followed. "You want me to replace my father. And I will. I'll replace him and do even better. My father was a fool. He underestimated Harry Potter, and he paid the price. I have never underestimated Harry Potter. I can do better. I want to become a Death Eater." It was a desperate gambit, and if the Dark Lord took it the wrong way, he was about to die.

The Dark Lord, however, was surprised, but of course his face was a mask without emotion. He should have expected the boy would cling to life. He thought back to himself at the same age, all of the things he had accomplished. But even then, he was nothing, a pale shade of what he was now. So young. Perhaps something could be made of him, if sent in the right direction early enough. Or perhaps this would be a way to... draw things out.

Aloud, he spoke, "You wish to become a Death Eater? You? So young, so inexperienced."

"No, my lord. I'm young, but I'm not inexperienced! I'll serve you in any way you require."

The Dark Lord remained silent, considering. Draco held his breath. This was it.

"Very well. But surely you must know that things are never that simple. Your trials will begin now. If you pass them, you will become a Death Eater."

With a flick of his wand, the double doors flew open. Draco turned around and nearly ran into Dolohov who marched passed him, struggling to keep the confusion from his face.

"My lord?" Dolohov bowed deeply.

"Draco must undergo the Trials. See to it that all is prepared."

"Yes, my lord. Right away." He bowed again and then departed the room, gesturing for Draco to follow him. Draco got up, bowed hastily, and trailed after him. His mind was utterly reeling. He was going to be made a Death Eater. What the _fuck_. He realized that now it came down to it, he didn't particularly _want_ to be a Death Eater. Not this soon, anyway. He knew service to the Dark Lord was inevitable, but he wanted to live some of his life first. Now he didn't have that chance.

He mentally scolded himself; he was lucky to be alive. He was certain that he had just danced with death in that room, and he was not eager to repeat the experience. He'd be a loyal Death Eater. He would not pay his father's price.

Dolohov was leading him down a long flight of stairs. The walls had turned to stone, so they must be underground. He had absolutely no idea where they were. When they got to the bottom, Dolohov pinned him against the wall. Draco tried to struggle free, but the man was large and powerful, despite his advancing age.

"I don't know what the fuck you did in there, but you're supposed to be dead. Remember that. Remenber that daddy can't save you this time, as the lout has got himself thrown in Azkaban. You're on your own, boy."

Draco smoothed his rumpled clothes. "I know that, you idiot. But it sure as fuck beats pushing daisies, doesn't it?"

Dolohov grunted and pulled out his wand. Draco tensed, reaching for his own, but Dolohov disarmed him. "Relax, you won't need that where you're going."

Draco spluttered "what the fuck do you think-" but he never got a chance to finish the sentence. He was slumping forward, and his world turned to black.

He awoke, dimly aware that he was on the floor. The smooth stone was cool against his face. Was he dead? Did Dolohov kill him? What in the name of fucking hell had happened? The last thing he remembered was being disarmed. But if he had been killed, where the hell was he now?

Draco slowly got to his feet, squinting around. The room was grey stone on all sides, a square box of limited size. He felt slightly claustrophobic, but dismissed the feeling as the least of his worries. It was very dimly lit, yet paradoxically he could see well enough. He shouldn't be able to see that well. There was no source for the light, either. It just _was_. Something very weird was going on.

He couldn't keep track of time, but for the next little while, he tested the limits of his prison, as he was coming to think of it. He called out for help, but no one responded. None came to rescue him. The shadows grew deeper all the while, gathering in the corners. He checked his pockets for his wand. They were empty. He had no way of defending himself. This was looking bad, bad, _bad._

He stood in the center of the room, where there was most light, and tried to figure a way out. Lost in thought, he couldn't see that behind him, the shadows were expanding. A tendril of pure darkness was reaching out, and snatched at his shoulder. He screamed out in agony and dropped to the floor.

It was the most intense pain he had ever experienced. It lit up all of the nerves in his shoulder and snaked down his arm. It was like being struck by lightning in a thousand places at once. By the time his scream had ended, it was done, and whipping around he noticed the tendril had retreated back into the corner. He stared around wildly, but he couldn't keep his eyes on all four corners at once. And soon enough, the tendril struck from behind again, lancing across his back. His scream felt as though it was tearing his throat apart, but it was pure rapture next to the pain in his back.

And then it was gone. He was on his hands and knees on the floor, gasping, trying to catch his breath. He couldn't. The lightning hit him in the side. He was sure that he felt ribs break as it arced across him. His arms gave out and he slumped across the floor, drained. The lightning struck him again, and he tried to crawl away from it, terrified. It was without mercy.

He couldn't escape it, and in the end he curled into a ball, trying to shield himself from it. He couldn't. He prayed and prayed that it would end, but it never did. The pain became constant, the shadows lashing out from every direction. It was torture beyond enduring, but his body would not give up. He wasn't passing out, and somehow, in the scattered remains of his mind, he knew that he wasn't going to. This was not going to end on its own.

He looked up. The room was filled with shadowy tentacles of darkness, reaching for him. He seized one. The pain made him bite his lip so hard he felt blood splash across his chin. He didn't let go. He pulled and pulled and tore it away from the whole. It was cloth, silken in his hand; cloth, and nothing more, harmless as he held it there in his fist.

And suddenly he was furious. He was angrier than he'd ever been. He had endured this horror for _no reason_. He could have destroyed the darkness long ago, but he had suffered. He was going to tear them down now. He stood up, shakily, and struggled toward a corner. The tendrils went wild, whipping at him in a frenzy, attempting to keep him away. But he just pulled at them all, tore them down, ripped them to shreds.

His brain had shut down. He wasn't thinking clearly any more. In fact, he wasn't thinking at all, not in the traditional sense. His lizard brain, the ancestral spirit of humanity's primal instincts, had fired up and was now in full control, filling Draco with the hardwired anger he needed to survive. The corner was bare and grey, the light increased, once he was done with it. All of the shadows were shredded on the floor. He proceeded to the next corner, screaming incoherently as he did the same to it. And then the next two. At last, he stood in the center and took account of what had been done.

The grey walls were bare and clear, and no darkness lurked there, ready to hurt him. He had utterly destroyed it, but he wasn't free. _Why wasn't he free?_ He couldn't take it. He couldn't think. Draco was past the point of thinking things through. He hated this place, hated himself, and hated the darkness that had tortured him. He had to get out.

He threw himself against the wall. It scraped his shoulder, but it was utterly insignificant compared to what had been inflicted on him already. He slammed the wall again. A slight crack developed, a hair-thin line. He kicked at it, and it widened. He punched it, and punched it, until his knuckles grew bloody and ragged. He pushed his fist through, and the bones of his hand were visible. He didn't care. He pulled the wall apart from the outside in. The outside was light, bright and clear, and it shone into the dark hole he had been trapped in like a thousand suns suddenly going supernova. He slammed the wall once more, and finally broke through, into the light.

His eyes snapped open, and he jerked up, trying to look around. He couldn't sit up because he was restrained somehow. He heard a voice say "He's out, give him the brand!" He felt a piercing agony on his forearm and heard the low chant of a spell as a wand was pushed into his flesh. He could smell it burning away as inky black lines appeared there.

Draco screamed again, and the pain was unbearable, and his eyes were rolling back in his head, but just as soon as he felt he could stand it no longer, it was over. His head slumped back and he closed his eyes. He felt the bindings that were holding him down loosen and then fall away. He sat up, realizing he was on a stone table. He gingerly swung his legs over the edge. His sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, and there, on his forearm, was the Dark Mark, black and horrible.

He felt dizzy, and sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "What just happened to me?" he managed to bite out.

"You just survived the trials," Goyle grinned at him, one of several Death Eaters standing around him. In front of him stood Snape, who was putting his wand away. He was the one who had put the Mark on him.

Snape turned to him and said, "The grey room trial is the test that every person must pass to become a Death Eater. It teaches you to use your anger constructively, to shape it and dominate it, instead of letting it dominate you. The Dark Lord devised it to make sure that those who wish to join his ranks are capable of doing whatever necessary to uphold his will, and that those... less motivated, are disposed of carefully."

"You mean... none of it was real?" He looked down to see that his hands were perfectly intact. He recalled with a shudder seeing the bones in those very hands, his blood all over the walls.

"Correct," Snape said. "It was all part of a spell put on you. In the nine and a half hours you were under its effects, you were forced to fight against your own consciousness, and unlock your deeper subconscious, your primal instincts. Only once you rely on those instincts can you truly serve the Dark Lord."

Draco struggled to take it all in. He couldn't even look at his arm, lest another host of questions threaten to overtake him. He sat there dumbly, and then once he felt up to it, stood up. Death Eaters were filtering out. Snape stood before him.

"Uh, what happens now?"

"If you find yourself well enough, I will escort you as far as Knockturn Alley. You can use the fireplace in Borgin and Burke's to return yourself home."

"I thought the Floo Network was being monitored?"

"_Think_, Draco. They will see that you travelled from Borgin and Burke's to your home. There is nothing at all condemning about that information."

Draco could find no flaw. "Let's go, then."

"Very well. Take my arm." Draco grabbed his arm, and they departed in a swish of cloaks, into the strange tube-like compression of apparition. They arrived in the shop to find it was nearing dawn. Grey light filtered through the grimy windows as Draco looked out into the deserted streets of Knockturn Alley.

They walked into the back room, and Borgin jumped up in alarm, wand at the ready. When he saw who the intruders were, he lowered it, putting on his most oily smile. Draco turned and deliberately took his time examining each item. They were not in school. Snape was his equal here, not his nanny. He came across a giant cabinet, what looked like a wardrobe.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Snape. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Malfoy was just about to make use of your fireplace, isn't that right, Draco?"

"Half a minute, Severus. What's this here?" Draco pointed at the cabinet. "Some kind of cursed wardrobe?"

"It is supposedly a Vanishing Cabinet, Mr. Malfoy, though it is useless. A vanishing cabinet allows its occupant to travel between a pair of them as though it were a doorway, but the twin to this one has been lost, and so it is merely a curiosity."

Draco nodded, stepping toward the fireplace. "You can go now, Snape. I'll be fine." Snape just glowered at him. He sighed, "see you, then," and departed into the green flames with a puff of floo powder.

He stepped out into Malfoy Manor. His mother was sitting there, on the couch, her gaze unfocused.

"Mum?' her head snapped up at his words.

She looked to his forearm, her eyes taking in the mark there. He hastily tried to roll his sleeves down.

"It is as I have feared," she whispered.

"Yeah? Well it was this or death! Or did dear old dad not explain that to you? I didn't have a choice. The Dark Lord would've killed me because of his mistakes, killed all of us. I chose to live."

"No, Draco," she whispered, tears slowly rolling down her face. "You chose death."


	10. Life

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 10: Life

Draco found that August was already well underway without him even realizing it. It seemed like his life was just a strung-together series of nonstop shit. One thing after another. Before, he would've been overjoyed at this turn of events. The summers always went by too slowly, and it was agonizingly boring around Malfoy Manor. But now, nothing could ever be the same. Hogwarts wouldn't be the respite it had always been. He would have bigger things to worry about than his Potions grades, now.

His mother wasn't speaking to him anymore, except when it absolutely could not be avoided, and even then she used the house elves to relay messages rather than speaking to him directly. He supposed he couldn't blame her- ever since his father had gone to Azkaban she'd just been a fucking sinking ship, and now she'd finally gone under. As long as the elves were around to look after her and keep her from doing anything overly stupid, he didn't think it was an issue that required much of his attention.

A matter that _did_ require his attention, however, was Daphne Greengrass. He realized, with some shame, that he hadn't talked to her in much too long, and that she was probably worried about him. It was a supremely odd experience, to find that someone actually cared about him, where he went, how he was feeling. And not for selfish reasons, either. Not because they had to. But because they wanted to.

He tried to cut off this line of thinking. It turned his stomach into a boiling cauldron of guilt, and guilt was one thing that Draco Malfoy _did not_ tolerate. It was not his fault that he couldn't give back in the way she probably wanted. Maybe he would've been able to, had he not been drafted into the Death Eaters in order to avert his own premature death and the deaths of the rest of his family. Resentment rose up in him for a moment, until he realized that Daphne didn't, and couldn't, know what had happened to him, and that the resentment he was feeling wasn't directed at her, but rather inward, at himself.

He kicked at his trunk, and the jolt of pain in his toe roused him from his broodings. "It's not my fault, _okay?_" he said to the room. "I had to what I had to do. That's it." The silence in the empty room spoke volumes back to him. And he couldn't find excuses for the things that he heard.

It was late afternoon when he arrived in Daphne's fireplace. He found her out on the veranda, sitting at one of the tables with a book. The weather was a welcome change: it was still as hot as it had ever been lately, but the sky was full of overcast. It felt like it was going to rain soon, and he welcomed it. Enough of the heat and sun, already. He had been careful to conceal his freshly-branded Dark Mark with magic, as it was much too hot outside to have his sleeves rolled down.

He walked quietly over and dropped down into the seat across from her.

"What on earth are you doing, Greengrass?"

Daphne looked down her nose at him, and he gestured to the book. She rolled her eyes. "It's called reading, Malfoy, you might've heard of it. It's where you read the scratches on pages to find out what other people have to say about things."

"Thank you for that enlightening and verbose history," he breathed, in mock-rapture.

"Oh, shut up! I happen to enjoy reading a book once in a while, alright? It's not criminal!"

He held his hands up in defeat. "No, but it sure is fucking weird, yeah?"

"Piss off," she muttered, but she was smiling. Draco gave her a smirk, and relaxed back into his chair, closing his eyes. It was nice to just relax-

"So where the bloody hell have you been? You just disappeared last week, and your mum is no help trying to track you down. So what happened? Have you been busy seeing other girls?"

Draco almost laughed. If only his life was that simple. "No, Daph. Just you. But I've been busy and things have been hard and my mum isn't quite right anymore and she needs looking after. Not exactly the relaxing summer I was hoping for."

This seemed to deflate Daphne a bit. "Oh," she said softly. "Right, of course. Sorry. But you could try and see me a bit more often, yeah? Even just for a bit. I miss you."

"Yeah, uh, I'm... I'm sorry. I'll try and see you more often."

Her eyebrows rose. "I don't mean to take the piss, but that sounds like a phrase you're not very familiar with using.

He gestured wildly. "Yeah, well, I've never had much reason, alright? Appreciate it."

"I do, I do." She looked genuinely surprised. Was it really that big of a deal for him to apologize? He shrugged off the thought. Whatever. Focus on the now.

"Yeah, but anyway, there's just been a lot of stuff going on." Yeah, wasn't _that_ the understatement of the year.

"What kind of stuff?" she asked, a frown playing across her face.

Draco backtracked. "Oh, y'know, uh, trying to run everything with my father in jail and my mum gone over the edge. It's pretty tough." In fact, it wasn't. All of the major aspects of the Malfoy estate ran themselves, and the parts that didn't Draco could get for himself. And his mum wasn't completely useless, either, but better to exaggerate.

She nodded, looking thoughtful. Her head snapped up, "Oh, there's another party here tonight. Do you want to hang around for it? It's a bit fancier, though. Indoors, because of the weather, so naturally you know that a grand affair must be made of it," she laughed.

"Really, the highpoint is watching my mum talk Astoria into a dress. That girl hates them for some reason, I can't imagine why."

Draco smirked. "Obviously she's just not as classy as us, yeah? Can't appreciate the finer things."

"Yes, Draco, if there's one thing you're good for, it's showing me the finer things in life." Her sardonic remark was accompanied by an eyeroll.

"Well, I don't so much know about life, but I can certainly show you the finer things in my pants, yeah?" A cheeky grin spread across his face. He scowled when she reached across the table and hit him.

"Ow! What?"

"Would you prefer I hexed your mouth shut?"

"Point taken. Still-"

She pulled out her wand pointed it threateningly at his face. "Try me."

He smirked. "What? You know it's true." He crossed his arms. "Fine, prove me wrong."

She sighed. "You know I can't do that. But let's make it quite clear that the finest things are in _my_ pants, yeah? Yeah."

Draco snorted in mock-outrage. "Yeah, sure, Daph. You just keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you fall asleep at night, eh?"

"Hmmm. I think we have to settle this once and for all."

It was Draco's turn to raise his eyebrows. "And how you suppose we do that, love?"

"Well, I can think of a few ways..."

Draco looked thoughtful, "Well, so can I, but they all involve us being in your bedroom."

"Then I suppose we should relocate to my bedroom then, shouldn't we?"

They ran.

Draco locked the door with magic and then set his wand on her desk. He moved toward her and leaned in to kiss her in one fluid motion. Their lips met, and the passion began in earnest, with a slow boil, but gradually became more and more frantic.

Daphne spun Draco in a slow circle as she kissed his neck and sucked on his collarbone. She slowly undid the buttons to his shirt, trailing kisses down his chest as she went, until she reached his belt. With a sly smirk that he matched quite equally, she undid his belt, slowly, before yanking it off. On her knees, she let her gaze linger on the bulge in his black trousers.

"Happy to see me?" she smirked.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" he teased.

"Mmm, not just yet, I think. No need to rush." She grabbed hold of him through his trousers and slowly began to rub it with the palm of her hand.

He let out a groan that was half frustration and half longing, but said nothing. She smirked her approval at his silence and continued to stroke him through the layers of fabric.

After a time, she unzipped the trousers and pulled them down, leaving his boxers on. Even with the layer of fabric between, she could see how hard he was, to say nothing of the gathering stickiness that was creating a spot. She began to stroke him through the boxers, and with only a thin layer of fabric between her hand and him, he groaned with pleasure.

Showing a remarkable amount of self-control, Draco managed to say "Well this is hardly fair."

She paused in her work and looked up, confused. "Huh?"

"I'm hardly wearing anything, and you're still fully dressed," he murmured. "Hardly fair."

She stood up again and he kissed her, his tongue intertwining with hers, his warm mouth on hers. He pulled her shirt over her head. He broke the kiss for a moment and said, "Better, much better." She was wearing a long, flowing skirt, and he got it down her legs quickly, before she stepped out of it gracefully. Clad in only a black bra and tight black knickers, she stood before him, arms wrapped around his neck.

"Almost there," he whispered, and reached around behind her back. First hook, second hook. The bra fell limp over her small, perky breasts. Draco massaged them gently through the bra before pulling it off and tossing it to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Her breasts, free of the bra, were now available for Draco's attention. He started by massaging them broadly, squeezing gently and pushing them together. After a time he began to focus on her nipples specifically, alternating from one to the next. They were rose coloured and small, matching her pale breasts perfectly. He pinched them both and pulled them out, tugging on them, until she cried out in pleasure.

He pressed his lips to hers once more, pushed his whole body against hers, pushed her breasts into his chest, their sexes coming into desperately close contact. But not close enough.

She got down to her knees again and jerked his boxers down past his knees. Taking a deep breath, she slowly took him in her mouth. He groaned and arched his back in pleasure. She drew it out- first just the tip, and then her lips slowly wrapped around the shaft until she had fit as much as she could. She held it there for a moment before sliding her lips up the shaft again. She reached out with her hand and held the shaft while focusing on the tip, swirling her tongue around it before diving in to take the whole in her mouth again. She worked at a steady rhythm, in contrast to Draco's irregular and shallow breathing.

After a few minutes, he stopped her. She looked up, alarmed. "You're not being fair again," he ground out. He took a steadying breath and then managed to pull away from her slightly, enough for his arms to reach down and rip her knickers off.

"Draco!" she admonished, but he knew that a simple spell would repair them afterwards. The stains, however, might be a bit more difficult. Their lips met once more, and his fingers found their way between her thighs, gently caressing her most sensitive area. She moaned into his mouth, and after a while returned to her knees.

This time she began to pick up speed after developing a rhythm. Draco's breathing became more and more laboured, quick gasps in between groans of pleasure. When at last he came, she made sure to get every drop, and kept him in her mouth until he was completely finished.

They put on a few layers of clothing each, just enough to cover their nakedness, and relaxed in her room for a time. The afternoon was moving ever onward, however, and so Draco said goodbye and travelled back to Malfoy Manor to shower before the evening's festivities.

He let the hot water burn the sweat from his skin and let the tension out of his muscles. He towelled himself off and selected his emerald green dress robes from his closet. He hoped they'd be smart enough to use cooling spells, because indoors or not it was going to be boiling hot.

He floo'd back to Daphne's and the thought came to him that perhaps he could use their fireplace to dodge the spying the Ministry was doing. But could he trust them with it? Would they want the burden? And were they even free of a trace themselves? He didn't have the answer to any of those questions, so he put the thought from his mind.

He stepped out of the fireplace gracefully, for once, to walk into a crowd. He knew almost everyone in the room. Either they were schoolmates or friends of his parents, or his friends' parents. A few people nodded and some tried to strike up conversation, but he shook them off as none of them were Daphne Greengrass.

He found her in the antechamber, greeting guests as they entered. He greeted her with a quick kiss, though his eyes lingered on her long after their lips parted. Her dress robes were the same colour green as his, and she had her hair in some kind of fancy up-do that was no doubt held together with magic. She looked completely ravishing- even more so than usual.

"You look quite fabulous this evening," he said with a smile.

"Could say the same for you, Draco. Rather... dashing, yes."

Draco puffed out his chest and preened as though his life's work was to preen professionally. He didn't discount the possibility.

Arm in arm, they made their way around the room, as Daphne had to make small-talk with the guests in order to fulfill her obligations as a proper Slytherin hostess. Everything was a power-play, especially socializing. Draco didn't mind that much- he didn't really have to do anything except smile and nod most of the time. But eventually they came to a group of men, a few of whom Draco knew to be Death Eaters.

"Hey, Malfoy! Good seeing you here," said one. "Not out on your first job yet?"

"Quiet you moron!" Draco hissed. The man glanced to Daphne and shrugged. "What, haven't told her about your new job yet? Dear Mr. Malfoy's found some gainful employment."

Daphne raised her eyebrows at this but said nothing. Draco steered her away from the group, who were now admonishing the man who had spoken, and out onto the veranda, which was empty. The hot air was intensely humid, like breathing through a sponge.

"So you wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"I'd like to, yeah, but I can't really right now, Daph. Things are really weird at the moment and I don't know what's going to happen. I can't say anything about it."

She looked appraisingly at him and then finally gave him a small nod. "Fine. I'll trust you. Don't make me regret it."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a kiss. When their lips parted he whispered, "Have I ever?" She smiled as she kissed him.

Kissing her was something else, he began to realize. He didn't do it because he felt obligated, or because he wanted something else from her. He would be happy to kiss her out here on the veranda, lightning playing across the inky sky, for all eternity. He didn't care about the heat, or the rain, or the Death Eaters inside who had nearly given away his secret. None of it mattered. The most important thing in the world in that moment was that his lips connect with hers, that their tongues intertwine and explore each other's mouths, that their hands roam each other's bodies.

The veranda, however, was a less than ideal place to let things progress further. For one, it offered little privacy or protection from the elements, and for another, there was nowhere to do anything. Draco supposed they could use one of the tables, but by the time this thought entered his mind Daphne was already dragging him inside, doubtlessly heading for her bedroom.

The halls were deserted, which was for the better, as Draco was doing his best to undress Daphne before they reached their destination. She fended him off admirably, however, so Draco began to undress himself instead.

They reached her room and spun, slamming the door behind them as Draco pushed her up against it. She began undoing the long line of buttons down his front, as fast as her nimble fingers would allow. When she had got them all undone, she pushed the robes aside and ran her hands over his chest. She leaned in for a kiss, and his mouth enveloped hers.

With a struggle, they managed to get the rest of their robes off. However fashionable they might look, they were still a pain in the ass when it came to getting rid of them in a hurry. When they had finally managed to get them off, they were left with only knickers. Draco had grey boxer shorts and Daphne was wearing a green lingerie set. He had to commend her on her preparedness.

They continued kissing as Draco spun her around and they began moving toward her bed. He laid her down and then climbed on top of her, to resume the exploring his tongue was doing. He massaged her breasts and then dragged a finger down her abdomen, snapping the waistband at her panties before trailing it back upward again. He began to kiss her neck, at first biting it gently and then more insistently. Her nails dug into his back as her breathing quickened.

He reached around behind her back and with some difficult managed to unclasp her bra, before sliding it off her shoulders and out of the way. Once her breasts were free he gave them the attention they deserved, delicately kissing in the area between her breasts, his tongue flicking at parts before trailing kisses down her stomach. At last he returned to her mouth, and with that his hands reached her thighs, and then her inner thighs, and at last began to satisfy the desperate ache inside her.

Her eyes were half closed, shuttered with pleasure, and her breathing was coming in laboured gasps. When at last his fingers were soaking, he removed his boxers and plunged inside her, passion ruling him. She let out a guttural moan as she took his entire length and he held it there inside of her, revelling in the warmth and the tightness as she squeezed back against him. It was rapture. He began to build a rhythm inside her, his breathing slow and steady as he paced himself. Her breasts bounced with each stroke, and Draco groaned at the sight.

But then everything went wrong.

He felt a burning sensation, and attached to it was a powerful pull, a longing that didn't belong to him but compelled him anyway. It was the Dark Mark. He knew it was. It was hidden, but he didn't know how much longer that would last. More importantly, the Dark Lord was calling.

Daphne felt him pull out and opened her eyes, thinking that maybe he was finished. What she was Draco roll of the bed and begin throwing his clothes on. He did up about 3 buttons on his robes before shoving his shoes on and whispering to her "I've gotta go. I'm sorry. I'll explain," and dashing out of her room.

He had to get back to Malfoy Manor. The others would've disapparated already. Someone would've been sent. How else was he supposed to get there? He dashed through the halls, but slowed to a walk when he saw people approaching. Even now he was loath to lose his dignity. He made it to the nearest fireplace and floo'd to Malfoy Manor, hoping he wasn't too late.

The second he emerged, hands pulled him up. "Where were you?" the gravelly voice whispered.

"Snape? What business is it of yours?"

"Seeing as how I've become your babysitter, it is necessary so that I can track you down. And what are you wearing? The Dark Lord requests an audience with you, you can't possibly consider appearing before him in this state."

"Haven't got the robes yet," Draco muttered.

Snape sighed theatrically, as if this was proof that Draco was doomed to utter failure, and pulled out his wand and began transfiguring the dress robes into Death Eater garb.

"Hey! Those were expensive!"

"I daresay your father can find the money _somewhere_ to replace them."

Draco muttered a few choice things under his breath, but Snape utterly ignored him. When he was finished with the robes, he said "Come. We're already late."

"I don't need your help. I don't even want it. Just leave me alone."

The level of scorn in Snape's voice reached new levels: "Seeing as how you have not yet passed your apparition test, you cannot get to where we are going on your own. I daresay you couldn't get there by any other means. You depend on me, whether you like it or not. Now stop acting like a spoiled child and floo yourself to Borgin and Burke's so we can disapprate.

Draco gave him one last look of contempt and then vanished into the flames.


	11. The Wandmaker

A Black Tie Affair

Chapter 11: The Wandmaker

Draco slowly opened the door, finding himself in the same antechamber from last time. Standing there in the centre was his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. He'd never actually met her before, but he instantly knew who she was and what she was capable of. She was thin and gaunt, her tangled black hair reaching down past her shoulders. She was even paler than he was, and her skin had a greyish tinge, an unnatural quality that he guessed came from all the time spent with the Dementors.

But what was most unnerving about her was the raptor gaze she had. It was the look of a killer, and he knew that that was exactly what she was. She was dangerous, ruthless, and possibly crazy. And she was standing ten feet in front of him.

"Ah, Draco, how nice to see you at last. You look very much like your father, though perhaps a bit healthier at the moment." Her horrible smile made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Errm, hi, Aunt Bella."

"Oh, he even calls me aunt. Isn't that precious. You're an endearing little tyke, aren't you?"

Rankled though his pride was, he didn't dare speak out against her. Before he could think of a response, Snape stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. Draco tried to shake it off, but it tensed, vicelike, until he stopped.

"Bella," Snape sneered in a voice of cold menace.

"Severus," she growled in turn. Her voice had gone from sickly-sweet and sing-songy to utter menace in a few short seconds. Draco did _not_ want to get between the two of them if they decided to start tossing hexes. In fact, it would be perfect to just let things play out. Maybe they'd finish each other off.

"Orders?" Snape hissed. The tension between the two could practically be felt.

"Bring him in. He's getting his first mission. Tragically, you're not involved. Can't be trusted with you. How the Dark Lord even trusts you at all is beyond me. But then the Dark Lord is not meant to be understood by mortals such as ourselves."

"You sad, pathetic woman. He barely even knows your name."

But before Draco could figure out whether they were talking about him or the Dark Lord, he felt himself being pulled forward. The doors burst open and he flew inside, landing on his knees before where Lord Voldemort sat.

"Lord Voldemort waits for no one, is that clear?"

Draco was paralyzed with terror. "Ye-yes my lord." He kept staring down at the stone floor, not daring to look up.

"I have a mission for you. Your first, as it were. There is a person of value that I need captured. He must be taken alive, as he is no use to me dead. I believe you know of him: his name is Ollivander. He is the wandmaker of Diagon Alley."

Draco did indeed know of him. Nearly every witch or wizard in Britain had gotten a wand from Ollivander. What in the name of Merlin could the Dark Lord want him for? But of course questioning orders would do nothing except get him killed.

"Yes my lord. I'll go right away."

"You can find him in Diagon Alley. The fool lives in his shop. But beware; he is not as harmless as he looks. That old man knows many tricks. To make sure things go according to plan, Bellatrix is going with you."

Draco felt bitter resentment well up in his throat. How was he ever supposed to prove himself if he was forced to tag along with others? But he couldn't complain. Ollivander was much older than him, and could probably do things Draco had never seen. But he would catch him unawares. Sneak in. Get him with his guard down. And if anything went wrong, Bellatrix was there to handle it.

"Yes my lord. Thank you my lord." He stood, bowed, shook slightly on the spot, and then turned and departed the room. Bellatrix was waiting for him in the antechamber. Snape was nowhere to be found.

"Right, let's go then, shall we?" Bellatrix grinned at him. Draco was as nervous as he had ever been, but she seemed to be right at home now. She was in her element. He had to say he was very glad to be on the same side as her.

They walked outside in silence. The stars were wide-ranged and impressively bright above them. Draco enjoyed spending some nights at Malfoy Manor outdoors, watching the stars. He liked to find the constellation that shared his name. He looked over when Bellatrix stopped walking. She was picking up something by the stairs, a manky old pair of boots.

Draco's disgust registered on his face. "Eugh, something of Rudolphus'?"

She growled at him. "Listen up you little twat scar, I'll only explain this once. _These_ do in fact belong to Rudolphus, but I'm letting you borrow them for the night. When I explain what they do you should get on your knees and thank me."

Draco was about to voice a sarcastic retort but kept his mouth shut. This _was_ Bellatrix. Aunt or not, he had a feeling he'd regret it if he pissed her off.

"What do they do?" he asked quietly.

"They're Seven-League Boots. Passed down through his family for ages, and one of the only useful things the man inherited besides his blood status. Mind you, they're essentially useless these days, but I'll get to that in a minute."

"What do they do?" Draco asked cautiously.

"They grant unnatural speed to the wearer. They were created, and more common, before apparition had been invented. Broomsticks and carpets were also common for travel, but much less innocuous. Of course, they come with a price. For one thing, you can only use them in short bursts, or you'll kill yourself running into things. For another, if you trip, you'll break your leg clean off, so don't trip."

Draco's eyes widened. "Well what if I'd rather take my chances then?" he asked hastily.

She gave him a serious look, very rare for her. "I'm not going to protect you tonight. Once we get in there, I'll be busy enough on my own. You forget- to them, you won't be a 16 year old student. You won't even be Draco Malfoy. You'll be an enemy, a Death Eater, and they will respond without mercy. The Dark Lord has ordered me not interfere, but I would not anyway. You must learn what is at stake here, and conduct yourself accordingly."

"Okay, okay. I don't want you babysitting me anyway. How do I use them?"

"The spell to activate them is _prodeo_. To stop, the spell is _modero_. Now put them on and try them out, we don't have much time, but I don't fancy you slipping on wet stones and launching yourself thirty feet into the air, either."

Draco began to untie his dress shoes, which Snape hadn't bothered to transfigure. "Where do I put these? I don't want to leave them out in the weather, the dew probably isn't good for the-"

Before he could finish she picked them up and chucked them off into the forest. Draco sighed. "Why does everyone keep doing this to me?" he grumbled.

"Draco, there are more important things in this world than footwear! The Dark Lord's will must be done! Now put them on."

He gritted his teeth and bit back a retort before grabbing the boots. They were large and black and studded with chain. They looked to be unnaturally heavy and much too big for him. Determined to get it over with, however, he slipped them on. To his astonishment, they resized themselves to his feet as he put them on, so that soon he was standing there with perfectly-fitting boots. Not only that, but they were now modern looking and rather fashionable. A far cry from what they had looked like a few seconds ago. He looked up in question.

A smirk flicked across Bellatrix's face. "Yes, Rudolphus never was one for fashion. They _are_ supposed to be innocuous, remember? They change themselves to suit the wearer. Now go, have a little jog. I'll try and hex you, and you try and dodge."

"Wait, what! Wait!" his yells of protest were drowned out by laughter as Bellatrix began firing spells at him. She was fast, very fast, and he thought _prodeo!_ before sliding left. In the blink of an eye, he was about 50 feet away, sprawled on his ass. He could still hear her cackling as she fixed her aim.

In the next 10 minutes (it was a bit difficult for Draco to keep time, as he was trying hard to balance dodging Bellatrix's spells with not killing himself via the Seven League Boots), Draco managed to figure out a workable strategy for using the boots. By focusing on a target a short distance away, say a tree, a rock, some sort of identifier, he could control where he went and minimize the chance of tripping over something.

He was just starting to get the hang of it when Bellatrix screeched "Enough! We have to go. Practice more tonight if you have to run for your life. Nothing quite like a bit of danger to keep the heart pumping!"

He disengaged the boots and walked back over to her at normal speeds. It seemed to take forever. "So what will you do, then?" he asked. There was only one pair of boots.

She snorted. "Draco, I'm Bellatrix Lestrange. If anything, I wish _they_ all had Seven League Boots. It might actually be a challenge. But no matter. Come on now, to Diagon Alley."

They stepped through the magical barrier that protected the grounds and walked a bit further into the darkness. Bellatrix turned and grabbed his arm and disapparated. With a great pulling sensation, Draco followed along with her, disappearing into the void between space and time.

It was dark in Knockturn Alley, though to be fair it was always dark there. Draco lit his wand with a muttered _lumos_ and attempted to get his hearings. Bellatrix, staring right through the dark like some unearthly predator, just grabbed his arm and started pulling him along.

He yanked it free, grumbling "I'm going, I'm going. I'm not a child, alright?"

She snorted. "Draco, you might as well be. You're a child who's just gotten his big-boy pants and can't wait to show them off to the world."

He fumed silently, but knew better than to argue with her. He was busy just trying to keep pace with her as she strode very quickly through Knockturn Alley. Fortunately there was no one else around, or they'd be finding themselves in an early grave. They reached the exit to Knockturn Alley, and Draco nearly ran into her when she paused, throwing up a hand.

Draco tried to point his wand out into the darkness to get a look around, but she slapped his hand away. He extinguished his wand and stood there in the darkness, waiting for his aunt to finish whatever it was she was doing. He heard her murmuring away under her breath. It didn't sound good, whatever she was doing, though he couldn't make out any of the actual words.

After several minutes of this, she stopped and gave a grunt of approval. "He's craftier than I thought. Listen carefully, Draco. The wandmaker has his shop heavily warded to prevent intruders, such as ourselves. I can defeat them, of course, but as soon as they start going down, he will feel the loss in magic, and doubtless this will set off other wards designed as a fail-safe. Do not underestimate him."

Draco nodded. "Er, okay. What am I doing, then?"

"You must capture Ollivander. There's no other way to it. We cannot ignore the wards, and only I can counter them. Go! Capture, but do not kill! The Dark Lord must have him alive!"

"I will capture him." The resolved in his voice sounded hollow in his mind. In truth, he was very nervous, and didn't know how on earth he was supposed to capture an old and powerful wizard with an army of wands at his disposal. _No. You can do this. The Dark Lord thinks you can do this. Aunt Bellatrix does too. They wouldn't make you do this if you couldn't. Right? Right?_

He didn't have time to think about these questions. Bellatrix swept down Diagon Alley, until she reached Ollivander. She whipped out her wand and began casting spells. He watched with wonder as the wards became visible, great purple shimmering domes over the building, electric blue fences across the entrance way, and a hazy green mist that hung by the eavestroughs, as if at the ready. Beautiful, but quite the arsenal.

Now that the wards were visible, Bellatrix stepped forward and began casting at them, and they lashed out in return, arcing across the night. Windows shattered and an unnatural gust picked up, tearing through the narrow street. Draco did not wait to find out who would win. He sprinted forward, and burst through the door. He felt an electric charge rip through his body, but kept running and the feeling began to fade.

Once he was clear of the wards, he stopped and looked around. He was standing in the middle of Ollivanders. It had been years since he'd last been in here, but he still remembered the day he got his wand. He remembered pulling it out of the box, holding it like his father had shown him. The feeling of power that came with it was intoxicating. He'd been hooked ever since.

He noticed there were stairs to go to the upper level. Seeing as how the ground floor was deserted, he knew that Ollivander must be up there. He took the stairs as quietly as possible, knowing that Ollivander was waiting for him, readying his last defense. He began to sweat. The slower he took the stairs, the more he wanted to turn around and let Bellatrix handle it.

He shook his head mentally. No, he couldn't. He knew that the Dark Lord would kill him if he didn't come out of here with Ollivander. Hell, Aunt Bella might kill him before the Dark Lord even got the chance.

He steeled himself and marched up the final steps, stomping his way onto the landing, making as much noise as possible. Ollivander knew he was coming. Knew _someone_ was coming. He might as well sound as intimidating as possible. There was only one door at the end of the landing, and he knew that this was where the wandmaker must be.

"Confringo!" he shouted, and the lock in the door burst apart. He kicked it open, and ducked as a spell shot over his head. 

"You'll never take me alive!" he heard a voice shout. It was old and hoarse, wizened from years of use. Another spell, a flash of purple light, shot toward Draco, and he had to dive back onto the landing to avoid it.

"Stupefy!" Draco growled, casting it over his shoulder and into the room. He risked a quick glance. It was a small room, but it was full to bursting with all manner of wand supplies, woods and books and notes. A large workbench sat in the middle of the room, and he could see Ollivander crouched behind it. He was cornered.

_Well at least there's that slight chance I might survive_, Draco thought. He tossed another stupefy over his head. Scrolls on the bench exploded, but it appeared that Ollivander was unharmed. _Damn_.

Ollivander suddenly appeared from behind the bench, standing up for the first time since he had dived behind when Draco had destroyed the door. The wandmaker looked on in wonder, lowering his wand. "You're no Death Eater at all, Mr. Malfoy."

"On the contrary, old man," Draco snarled, rolling up his sleeve to show him the Dark Mark there. He stepped closer and levelled his wand with Ollivander's heart. "The Dark Lord has need of you. You will come with me or you will suffer his displeasure."

Ollivander shook his head sadly. "I'm not coming with you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco was growing frustrated. "You don't have a choice!" He threw the Conjunctivis Curse at him, but Ollivander deflected it with ease. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "it was only 5 short years ago that you purchased that wand from me, Mr. Malfoy. 10 inches, Hawthorn. A unicorn hair core, and if I'm not mistaken, reasonably springy. An innocent wand for an innocent boy. I could sense the seeds of darkness within, and certainly your family's reputation long proceeds you, but you were not set on any path, then. Now look at you. Truly, it was too soon."

"I don't want to hear it, old man. I've got you cornered. You're coming with me."

"No, Mr. Malfoy, I am not. I'm sorry I must do this, but you've left me with no choice."

In an instant he had disarmed Draco and with magic thrust him aside, bound to the floor as if a ton of concrete had suddenly been placed on his chest.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. This is not the plan._ He struggled to free himself but he was trapped firmly, and his wand was impossibly out of reach, lying on the floor a few feet away. Suddenly, he heard an insane cackle, and knew that Bellatrix had found Ollivander.

He didn't doubt his crazy aunt, but Ollivander had just demonstrated how formidable his power was. What if she wasn't enough? What if Ollivander escaped? He almost shuddered at the thought of the torture that awaited him if he failed. He listened as hard as he could, straining his ears. There was a whirlwind of noise and various explosions, so it was hard to pick out what was happening, but it was clear a duel was unfolding below.

Draco was growing very impatient. He wanted to be the one to capture Ollivander. A voice in his head was telling him that he didn't stand a chance in hell of doing that, but he wanted to anyway. He did not want Bellatrix to get all of the glory. He needed this to stay in the favour of the Dark Lord. And staying in his favour meant staying alive.

At last the hold over him broke and he charged down the stairs to a scene of devastation. The shop was in complete ruins. Exploded fragments of wands and their boxes littered the floor, and several of the tall shelves were tipped over completely. And standing over a bloody Ollivander was his aunt Bellatrix, looking only slightly more dishelved than usual, catching her breath.

"This bastard was a fighter. But I like a challenge. Good thing you made it out without a scrape, eh?"

Draco shrugged non-commitally. Now that it was done, he just wanted to get out of here.

"Levitate the body, I'll have to disapparate with him first and come back for you. Let's go."

She headed for the door and into the narrow Alley. Draco cast a levitation charm on Ollivander, who rose into the air and floated along behind him as he followed his aunt out. Once they reached the street, however, things took a turn for the worse.

Out from the shadows stepped a man that Draco was sure he recognized, but he could not place from where. Bellatrix stopped and whipped out her wand, screeching "Avada Kedavra!" 

The man conjured a large black bear, which took the spell full in the chest before exploding into bits of fur.

"I am Florean Fortescue. That is my friend you have. You shall not live to escape this night."


End file.
